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FKIENDS OF FKANCE

LARGE-PAPER EDITION

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FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES, OF WHICH
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AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS IN OCTOBER, 1916

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CONTENTS

Introduction A. Piatt Andrew xvii

Letter from Section Leaders . xix

I. The Organization of the Service Stephen Galatti 1

II. At the Back of the Front: Dunkirk and Ypres

Henry Sydnor Harrison . 6

III. The Section in Alsace Reconquise

Preston Lockwood 21

IV. Last Days in Alsace . . . Everett Jackson 51

V. The Section in Lorraine . James R. McConnell 61
With an introduction by Theodore Roosevelt

VI. An American Ambulance in the Verdun Attack

Frank Hoyt Gailor 89

VII. One of the Sections at Verdun Henry Sheahan 109

VIII. The Section in Flanders . Joshua G. B. Campbell 117

IX. The Beginnings of a New Section George Rockwell 131

X. Un Blesse a Montauvtlle . . Emery Pottle 136

XI. Christmas Eve, 1915 .... Waldo Peirce 139

XII. The Inspector's Letter Box 148

Our ambulances — How the cars reach Paris — En
route for the front — First impressions — The daily pro-
gramme — Handling the wounded — The wounded —
Night duty — Fitting into the life — Pay sages de guerre
— Soldier life — July 22 at Pont-a-Mousson — Incidents

• •
Vll

CONTENTS

XII. The Inspector's Letter Box (continued) . . 148

of a driver's life — Three Croix de Guerre — From day to
day — From another diary — Further pages — A night
trip — An attack — • Poilu hardships — Winter in Alsace

— Weeks of quiet — Night — Morning — Stray thoughts

— A gallant UessS — Perils of a blizzard — Poignant
impressions — In the hospital — New quarters — The
poetry of war.

Champagne, 1914—1915 ...... 227

XIII. Four Letters from Verdun 232

Tributes and Citations 252

Members of the Field Service ...... 337

THE MEMBERS OF THE FIELD SERVICE
DESIRE TO EXPRESS SINCERE GRATITUDE

TO
M. CHARLES HUARD

AND TO
M. BERNARD NAUDIN

FOR

THE INTEREST WHICH

THEIR DISTINGUISHED TALENT

HAS ADDED TO THIS BOOK

ILLUSTRATIONS

La France Guerriere Frontispiece

Dunkirk, May, 1915 . . 6

An American Ambulance in Flanders 10

An American Ambulance in Ypres 12

Soldiers marching by American Ambulances in a Flemish

Town 14

Americans in their Gas-Masks 16

The Col de Bussang — the Gate to Alsace Reconquise ... 22

Supplies for the Soldiers being carried on Mules over the Vosges

Mountains 24

At a Valley "Poste" (Mittlach) .24

American Drivers in Alsace 28

A "Poste de Secours" in the Valley of the Fecht . . .30

Sharing Meals at a "Poste" 30

La Terre Promise 36

The Harvard Club of Alsace Reconquise 42

Winter Days in Alsace 54

Effect of German Shells in Alsace (Thann) 58

On the Road to Hartmannsweilerkopf, December, 1915 . . 58

Shells breaking on the C6te-de-Mousson 70

Watching an Aeroplane Duel in Pont-a-Mousson ... 70

In Front of a " Poste de Secours" 74

An American Ambulance Driver „ 74

ILLUSTRATIONS

On the Road to Bois-le-Pretre 78

Fontaine du Pere Hilarion, Bois-le-Pretre . . . . .78

Loading the Ambulance 94

At a "Poste" at the Very Front 104

Soldiers of France 110

Americans in their Gas-Masks in front of the Bomb-proof

Shelter outside of the Headquarters 118

A " Poste de Secours" in Flanders 122

Waiting at a "Poste de Secours" 122

A Winter Day in Flanders 124

A Group of American Drivers in Northern France . . . 128

The Cathedral in Nieuport, July, 1915 128

Some of the Members of Section IV ...... 132

Approaching the High-Water Mark 134

"Poilus" and Americans sharing their Lunch .... 134

Richard Hall 144

Richard Hall's Grave 146

An Inspection Trip in Alsace 152

Within Sight of the German Trenches 154

Stretchers slung between Two Wheels on their Way from the

Trenches 156

Evacuating a Hospital 158

Transferring the Wounded to the Train 158

The End of an Ambulance 166

• ♦

Xll

ILLUSTRATIONS

Decoration of Carey and Hale 178

A Winter Morning 182

Ahatian Woods in Winter 182

The "Poste de Secours" near Hartmannsweilerkopf . . .186

Winter in Alsace 194

What Night Trips without Lights sometimes mean . . .212

The Dangers of the Road 212

Mule Convoy in Alsace 214

The "Poste" near Hartmannsweilerkopf after a Bombardment 214

One of our Cars in Trouble 216

Coffins in Courtyard of Base Hospital in Alsace . . . 216

Richard HalVs Car after Shell landed under it . . . . 218

A " Poste de Secours" at Montauville 222

Saucisse above Verdun 232

At a Dressing-Station near Verdun 236

American Ambulance in Verdun 242

American Ambulance at a Dressing-Station near Verdun . 246

A Corner of Verdun, July, 1916 250

Headquarters of the American Ambulance Field Service, 21 Rue
Raynouard, Paris 276

Some of the Men of the American Ambulance Field Service at
their Headquarters, 21 Rue Raynouard, Paris . . . 278

The " Croix de Guerre" 278

The " Medaille Militaire " 330

"Vive la France!" 346

xiii

PORTRAITS OF MEN "CITED"

Roger M. L. Balbiani . . .281

Edward Bartlett 281

William Barber 330

Leslie Buswell 283

Joshua Campbell 283

Graham Carey 285

John Clark 285

Edmund J. Curley » 287

Benjamin Dawson ........... 287

David B. Douglass 289

Luke C. Doyle 289

Brooke Leonard Edwards 291

Powel Fenton ' 291

Stephen Galatti 293

Halcott Glover 293

Richard Hall 295

Dudley Hale 297

Sigurd Hansen 297

Lovering Hill 299

Lawrence Hitt 301

George Hollister 301

Everett Jackson 303

Philip Lewis 303

xiv

ILLUSTRATIONS

Walter Lovell 305

James R. McConnell 305

Douglas MacMonagle 307

William T. Martin .307

Joseph Mellen 309

Francis Dashwood Ogilvie 309

Waldo Peirce 311

Thomas Potter 311

Tracy J. Putnam 313

Beverly Rantoul 313

Durant Rice 315

George Roeder 315

Edward Salisbury 317

Roswell Sanders 330

Bernard Schroder 317

James Milton Sponagle 319

Henry Suckley 319

John Taylor 321

Edward Tinkham 321

Donald M. Walden 323

J. Marquand Walker 323

Victor White 325

Walter Wheeler 327

Harold Willis 327

William H. Woolverton 329

INTRODUCTION

Les fitats-Unis d'Amerique n'ont pas oublies que la premiere page de
l'histoire de leur independance a ete ecrite avec un peu de sang frangais.
(GenSral Jqffre.)

The following pages, written and edited in the course
of active service in France, tell, however imperfectly,
something of the experiences of a small group of young
Americans who have not been inert onlookers during
the Great War.

Few in number and limited in their activities, this
little band of American ambulance drivers in France
is of course insignificant when compared with the
tens of thousands of young Frenchmen who crossed
the ocean as soldiers and sailors to help America in
1777. To the valor and devotion of these Frenchmen
we owe our very existence as an independent nation,
and nothing that Americans have done for France
during these last hard years of trial can be thought
of — without embarrassment — in relation with what
Frenchmen did for us in those unforgettable years of
our peril from 1777 to 1781.

The little group of Americans told of in this book
who, during the past two years, have dedicated valiant
effort and, not unfrequently, risked their lives in the
service of France, can best be thought of as only a

xvii

INTRODUCTION

symbol of millions of other Americans, men and wo-
men, who would gladly have welcomed an opportun-
ity to do what these men have done — or more. For,
notwithstanding official silence and the injunctions
of presidential prudence, the majority of Americans
have come to appreciate the meaning, not only to
France, but to all the world, of the issues that are to-
day so desperately at stake, and their hearts and hopes
are all with France in her gigantic struggle. They
share with the world at large a feeling towards the
French people of sympathy, of admiration, and, in-
deed, of reverence, such as exists towards the people
of no other country; and millions of them, like these
volunteers of the American Ambulance, have been
tortured by a longing to have some share with the
people of France in defending the ideals for which,
as they feel, America has always stood, and for which
France is now making such vast, such gallant, and
such unflinching sacrifice.

The service to France of Americans, whether am-
bulance drivers, surgeons, nurses, donors and dis-
tributors of relief, aviators, or foreign Ugionnaires,
when measured by the prodigious tasks with which
France has had to cope during the past two years, has
indeed been infinitesimally small; but their service to
America itself has been important. They have ren-
dered this inestimable benefit to their country. They
have helped to keep alive in France the old feeling of
friendship and respect for us which has existed there
since our earliest days and which, otherwise, would

xviii

INTRODUCTION

probably have ceased to exist. They have helped to
demonstrate to the chivalrous people of France that
Americans, without hesitating to balance the personal
profit and loss, still respond to the great ideals that
inspired the founders of our Republic. They have
helped France to penetrate official reticence and re-
discover America's surviving soul.

When all is said and done, however, the ambulanciers
themselves have gained the most from the work in
which they have taken part. It is a privilege even in
ordinary times to live in this "doux pays de France"
to move about among its gentle and finished land-
scapes, in the presence of its beautiful architectural
heritages and in daily contact with its generous, sen-
sitive, gifted, and highly intelligent people. Life in
France, even in ordinary times, means to those of
almost any other country daily suggestions of cour-
tesy, refinement, and thoughtful consideration for
others. It means continual suggestions of an intelli-
gent perspective in the art of living and in the things
that give life dignity and worth.

The opportunity of living in France, as these Ameri-
cans have lived during the past two years of war, has
meant all this and more. It has meant memories of
human nature exalted by love of country, shorn of
self, singing amidst hardships, smiling at pain, un-
mindful of death. It has meant contact with the most
gentle and the most intelligent of modern peoples
facing mortal peril — -facing it with silent and unshak-
able resolve, victoriously resisting it with modesty

xix

INTRODUCTION

and with never a vaunting word. It has meant im-
perishable visions of intrepidity and of heroism as
fine as any in the records of knight-errantry or in the
annals of Homeric days.

Nothing else, surely, can ever offer so much of no-
ble inspiration as these glimpses of the moral gran-
deur of unconquerable France.

A. Piatt Andrew
Inspector General of the Field Service

%Si^

%?~

The publication of this book presents an opportunity of show-
ing our appreciation of the extraordinarily successful work of
A. Piatt Andrew in reorganizing and furthering the work of the
Field Service of the American Ambulance.

Those of us who were in the service before his arrival and have
continued to work under him have been able to judge the effects of
his efforts, and to realize the amount of activity, patience, and
tact necessary to overcome the numerous difficulties which pre-
sented themselves. It was through the confidence placed in him
by the French military authorities that the small American squads,
after reorganization to army standards, were allowed to take po-
sitions of trust at the front. As a result of his untiring efforts in
America funds were raised and cars donated to continue and ad-
vance the work.

No more striking proof can be given of the change in value to
the Army of our Service, and of the change in the attitude of the
authorities towards it, than the recent request of the Automobile
Service to the American Ambulance for other Sections. When
Mr. Andrew began his work we were seeking an opportunity to
widen our sphere of work. Now the efficiency and usefulness of
the service are such that the Army has requested that it be in-
creased.

We all owe much to Mr. Andrew: his devotion to the cause has
inspired all those working with him.

Lovereng Hill

Commander of Section III (Alsace)
Edward V. Salisbury

Commander of Section II (Lorraine)

H. P. TOWNSEND

Commander of Section I (Flanders)

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

THE ORGANIZATION OF THE SERVICE

APRIL 1915 — APRIL 1916

During the first eight months of the war the Ameri-
can Ambulance continually hoped to extend its
work to an Ambulance Service definitely connected
with the armies in the field, but not until April, 1915,
were these hopes definitely realized. The history,
however, of these first eight months is important;
its mistakes showed the way to success; its expecta-
tions brought gifts of cars, induced volunteers to
come from America, and laid the basis upon which
the present service is founded.

A gift of ten Ford ambulances, whose bodies were
made out of packing-boxes, enabled the American
Ambulance, at the very outset of the war, to take
part in the transport service, and as more and more
donations were made small squads were formed in
an attempt to enlarge the work. These squads,
each of five cars, were offered for service with the
armies, but owing to their inadequate size were in
every case attached by the Government to existing
services well in the rear. So there were small squads
at Saint-Pol, Amiens, Paris Plage, Abbeville, Mer-
ville, and Hesdin, attached to British or French

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Sections, and they were engaged in evacuating hos-
pitals, work which clearly could be better done by
the larger cars of Sanitary Sections already attached
to these hospitals.

In April, 1915, through the efforts of A. Piatt An-
drew, who had then become Inspector of the Field
Service, the French authorities made a place for
American Ambulance Sections at the front on trial.
A squad of ten ambulances was sent to the Vosges,
and this group attracted the attention of their com-
manding officers, who asked that it be increased by
ten cars so as to form it into an independent Sani-
tary Section. As soon as this was done, the unit
took its place in conjunction with a French Section
in an important Sector on the front in Alsace.

With this initial success a new order of things be-
gan, and in the same month a second Section of
twenty cars was formed and was stationed, again in
conjunction with an existing French service, in the
much-bombarded town of Pont-a-Mousson.

In the meantime, two squads of five cars each
had been working at Dunkirk. These were now re-
enforced by ten more and the whole Section was then
moved to the French front in Belgium, with the re-
sult that at the end of the month of April, 1915, the
Field Service of the American Ambulance had really
come into existence. It comprised three Sections of
twenty ambulances, a staff car, and a supply car —
Section Sanitaire Americaine N° 1, as it was called,
stationed at Dunkirk; Section Sanitaire Americaine

THE ORGANIZATION OF THE SERVICE

N° 2, stationed in Lorraine; and Section Sanitaire
Americaine N° 3, in the Vosges.

The story of the next year is one of real achieve-
ment, in which the three Sections emerged from the
test with a record of having fulfilled the highest ex-
pectations of proving their utility to France. Sec-
tion 1, having given an excellent account of itself
in the long-range bombardments and air-raids at
Dunkirk, was rewarded by being intrusted with
important work in Belgium at Coxyde, Nieuport,
Poperinghe, Elverdinghe, Crombec, and other postes
de secours in that Sector of the French front.

Section 2 had to win recognition in a region al-
ready served by a French Sanitary Service and to
which it was attached to do secondary work. The
Section not only accomplished its own work, but
made it possible for the French Section to be with-
drawn, taking over the postes de secours on the line,
and finally becoming independently responsible for
an area renowned for its continual heavy fighting.

The record of Section 3 is slightly different. It
first successfully took over the existing service, and
then, pushing on, opened up to motor transport
hitherto inaccessible mountain postes de secours.

With the three Sections thus established, it is in-
teresting to note why they have been a recognized
success so shortly after their possible usefulness was
appreciated.

In the first place, an admirable type of car was
selected. Our light Ford ambulances, stationed as

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

they were in Belgium, in Lorraine, and in Alsace,
faced three separate transportation problems. At
Dunkirk they found the mud no obstacle; at Pont-
a-Mousson they outgeneralled the ravitaillement
convoys; in the Vosges they replaced the mule.
They were driven, too, by college men or men of the
college type, who joined the service to be of use and
who brought to the work youth and intelligence,
initiative and courage. There have been to date in
the Field Service 89 men from Harvard, 26 from
Yale, 23 from Princeton, 8 from the University of
Pennsylvania, 7 from Dartmouth, 6 from Columbia,
4 from the University of Michigan, 4 from the Uni-
versity of Virginia, 18 American Rhodes scholars
from Oxford, and representatives of more than
thirty other colleges and universities. Twenty-eight
men have already been cited and awarded the croix
de guerre.

In November, 1915, at the request of General
Headquarters, a fourth Section, made possible
through the continued aid of generous friends in
America, took its place in the field. In December,
1915, Section 1 was moved to the Aisne. In Janu-
ary, 1916, Section 3 was transferred to the Lorraine
front, in February Section 2 was summoned to
the vicinity of Verdun at the moment of the great
battle, and in March definite arrangements for a
fifth Section were completed.

So April, 1916, finds the three old Sections still
on duty at the front, the fourth already making its

THE ORGANIZATION OF THE SERVICE

reputation there, and a fifth being fitted out. Con-
fidence has been gained; we have learned our parts.
The problem of the future is, first, to maintain effi-
ciency, and at the same time to be ready to put more
cars and more men in the field. Our vision is to play
a larger role in behalf of France, and with the con-
tinued cooperation of the donors of ambulances and
the same spirit of sacrifice on the part of the men
in the field, it should be realized.1

Stephen Galatti

Assistant Inspector

1 Since the writing of this chapter three more Sections have gone into
the field and an eighth is in process of formation. More than fifty Amer-
ican colleges and universities have been represented, and more than fifty
members of the service have received the Croix de Guerre or the MSdaille
Militaire. (November, 1916.)

AT THE BACK OF THE FRONT: DUNKIRK AND YPRES

In June, 1915, it was the pride of the Section in
Flanders, Section 1, to feel that it had come closer to
war than any other division of the American Ambu-
lance. In June, 1916, the point of pride is to know that
those first intense experiences have long since been
duplicated and eclipsed. The competitive principle
does not enter, naturally; the significance is that in
this twelvemonth the service of the Americans has
been steadily extended and vitalized. And in at-
tempting to express here something of the whole
through one of its parts, I need only suggest that the
initial adventure in the North, comprehending in a
few crowded weeks a fairly full range of experience
behind the lines, perhaps still stands as typical and
illustrative of all the rest.

In Dunkirk we witnessed, and within our powers
tried to cope with, what yet remains, I believe, the
most sensational artillery exploit in history. It is re-
membered that the little cars of the Americans often
ran those empty streets, and pursued those deafening
detonations, alone. Here, at our base, we shared the
life of a town under sporadic, but devastating, bom-
bardment; forward, in Elverdinghe, we shared the
life of a town under perpetual, and also devastating,
bombardment; still further forward, in Ypres, we be-

DUNKIRK, MAY, 1915

DUNKIRK AND YPRES

held a town bombarded from the face of the earth
in a single night. We shared no life here, nor yet in
Nieuport, for there was none to share. In the salient
around Ypres, we played for many days our small
part in that vast and various activity forever going on
at the back of the front. Here we saw and learned
things not easily to be forgotten: the diverse noises
of shells going and coming, of arrivees and departs; the
stupendous uproar of the "duel" before the charge,
which makes the deepening quiet of a run-back come
like a balm and a blessing; the strange informality of
roadside batteries, booming away in the sight of peas-
ant families and every passer; the silence and the
stillness, and the tenseness and the busyness, of night
along the lines; the extreme difficulty of hiding from
shrapnel successfully without a dugout; the equal
difficulty of driving successfully down a shell-bitten
road in darkness like ink; the glow against the sky of a
burning town, and the bright steady dots of starlights
around half the horizon; the constant straggle of the
evicted by the field-ambulance's front-door, and the
fast-growing cemetery at the back-door; the whine
and patter of bullets by the postes de secours and the
business-like ripple of the machine-guns; the whir of
Taubes, the practical impossibility of hitting them
from the ground, and the funny little bombs some-
times dropped by the same; the noises made by men
gone mad with pain; the glorious quiet of men under
the acetylene lamps of the operating-table; " crowd
psychology,'' and why a regiment becomes a "fight-

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

ing machine," and how tender hearts are indurated
with a toughening of the skin; the high prevalence of
courage among the sons of men; drawbacks of sleep-
ing on a stretcher in an ambulance; the unkemptness
of Boche prisoners; life, death, and war, and the values
and meanings thereof.

Such things, as I know, passed into the experience of
Section 1, in Flanders. And these things, and more,
have similarly passed into the experience of scores of
young Americans since, in their life and service be-
hind the lines of France.

It is the composite experience which the following
pages narrate; it is the composite service which the
mind holds to with most satisfaction. We were
the Service Sanitaire Americaine: a proud title, and
we wished, naturally, to invest it with the realest
meaning. That in this year 1915-16, the American
service has been rendered efficiently and even valu-
ably, this volume as a whole attests, I think. That it
has been rendered with the requisite indifference to
personal risk is also, I hope, supported by the record.
A transient in the service, who by no means bore the
burden and heat of the day, may be permitted, I
trust, to say these necessary, or at least these inter-
esting and pertinent, things with complete detach-
ment.

I remember the hour of Section l's "baptism of
fire." We stood in the lee (or what we hoped was
the lee) of the Petit Chateau at Elverdinghe, while
German shells whistled over our heads and burst with

DUNKIRK AND YPRES

a wicked crash about the little church, the typical
target, a couple of hundred yards away. (What in-
terest we felt when a fragment of shell, smoking hot,
fell almost at our feet, and what envy of the man who
gathered in this first memorable "souvenir"!) We
were just down from Dunkirk; we were greener than
the grass that blew; and that the novel proceedings
were acutely interesting to us will never be denied.
Perhaps each of us secretly wondered to himself if he
was going to be afraid; certainly all of us must have
wished, with some anxiousness, that those strange
whistles and roars would turn themselves another
way. And still, when the young Englishman who ran
the ambulance service there appeared at that moment
and asked for two cars to go down the road to Brielen
(which was to go straight toward the trouble), it is
pleasant to remember that there was no lack of vol-
unteers, and two of my companions were cranking up
at once. There was never any time later, I am sure,
when the sense of personal danger was so vivid in the
minds of so many of us together.

Every ambulance-driver must have his bad quar-
ters of an hour, no doubt — and some of the worst of
them may concern, not himself at all, but his car or
his wounded. And if it is said that these young Amer-
icans, amateurs and volunteers, have acquitted them-
selves well in sometimes trying circumstances, there
is no intention to overemphasize this aspect of their
service. A volume might be written on the devel-
opmental reactions — all but mathemetical in their

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

working — of war-time. Nor does it seem necessary
to add that the risk of the ambulanciers, at the worst,
is small in comparison with that of those whom they
serve, and from whom in turn they get their inspira-
tion — the intrepid youths in the trenches.

We came to know these youths very well — the
gallant and charming poilus who have so long carried
the western front upon their shoulders. We sincerely
admired them; and on them largely we formed our
opinions of France, and of the war generally, and of
war.

From the standpoint of observation, indeed, — and
doubtless it is observation one should try to record
here, — I believe we all felt the peculiar advantage of
our position to have been this, that we mingled with
the soldiers on something like equal terms. We were
not officers; we were not distinguished visitors dash-
ing up in a staff -car for an hour of sight-seeing. We
were rankers (so far as we were anything), and we
were permanent; and in the necessities of our work,
we touched the life of the common fighting man at
every hour of the day and night, and under almost
every conceivable circumstance. We were with the
poilus in the hour of rout and disaster; we were with
them in the flush of a victorious charge brilliantly
executed. We crawled along roads blocked for miles
with them, moving forward; we wormed into railroad
stations swamped with the tide of their wounded.
Now we heard their boyish fun, and shared their
jokes in the fine free days off duty ; and now we heard,

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE IN FLANDERS

DUNKIRK AND YPRES

from the unseen well of the jolting car, their faint en-
treaty, Doucement, doucement! We saw them dis-
tressed by the loss of their precious sacs, or elated by
the gift of a button or a cheese; we saw them again, in
silence and the darkness beside the Yser, very quiet
and busy, with the ping and whine of many rifles; and
again we found them lying on straw in dim-lit stables,
bloody and silent, but not defeated. Now they gave
us tobacco and souvenirs, and told us of their gosses,
and helped us tinker with our cars, about which some
of them, mechanicians in happier days, knew so much
more than we did; and now they died in our am-
bulances, and sometimes went mad. We saw them
gay, and we saw them gassed; we found t&em idling
or writing letters on the running-boards of our cars,
and we found the dark stains of their fading lives
upon our stretchers; we passed them stealing up like
stalwart ghosts to action, and we left them lying in
long brown rows beside the old roads of Flanders.
And to me at least it seemed that the dominant

note and characteristic quality of the poilu, and all
his intense activity, was just a disciplined matter-of-
factness, a calm, fine, business-like efficiency, an utter
absence of all heroics. Of his heroism, it is superfluous
to speak now. My observation convinced me, indeed,
that fortitude is everywhere more common and evi-
dent, not less, than even rhapsodical writers have rep-
resented. There seems literally no limit to the powers
of endurance of the human animal, once he is put to
it. Many writers have written of the awful groanings

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

of the wounded. I must say that, though I have seen
thousands of wounded, the groans I have heard
could almost be counted upon the fingers of my hand.
Only once in my experience do I remember seeing any
signs of excitement or disorder. That was in the roads
around Poperinghe, in the first threatening hours of
the second Rattle of Ypres. Once only did I get any
impression of human terror. And that was only a
reminiscence, left behind by women and children in
the tumbled empty houses of Ypres. But in all the
heroism, unlimited and omnipresent, there is observed,
as I say, little or no heroics. That entire absence of
drum and fife, which strikes and arrests all beholders
at the front, is significant and symbolic. These men
muster and move forward to the risk of death almost
as other men take the subway and go downtown to
business. There are no fanfares at all, no grand ges-
tures, no flourishes about the soul and "la gloire."

It is true, no doubt, that the ambulance-driver views
the scene from a somewhat specialized angle. His
principal association is with the sequelae of war; his
view is too much the hospital view. Yet, it must be
insisted, he becomes quickly and strangely callous on
these points; and on the whole would be less likely to
overstress the mere horrors than someone who had
not seen so much of them. On the other hand, as I
have suggested, he has extraordinary opportunities
for viewing war as a thing at once of many parts and
of a marvellously organized unity.

Personally I think that my sharpest impression

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DUNKIRK AND YPRES

of war as a whole came to me, not along the postes
de secours or under the guns at all, but at the station
place in the once obscure little town of Poperinghe,
on the 23d of April, 1915.

That, it will be remembered, was a fateful day. At
five o'clock on the afternoon before (everybody was
perfectly specific about the hour), there had begun
the great movement now known as the Second
Battle of Ypres (or of the Yser). The assault had be-
gun with the terrifying surprise of poison-gas; the
gas was followed by artillery attacks of a ferocity
hitherto unequalled; Ypres had been wiped out in a
few hours; the Germans had crossed the Yser. Thus
the French and English lines, which were joined, had
been abruptly pushed back over a long front. That
these were anxious hours for the Allies, Sir John
French's report of June 15 (1915) indicates very
plainly, I think. But they were far from being idle
hours. To-day the whole back country, which for
weeks had swarmed with soldiers, was up. For miles
around, Allied reserves had been called up from camp
or billet; and now they were rushing forward to
stiffen the wavering lines and stem the threatening
thrust for the coast.

At three o'clock on this afternoon, I stood in Rue
d'Ypres, before the railway station in Poperinghe,
and watched the new army of England go up.
Thousands and thousands, foot and horse, supply
and artillery, gun, caisson, wagon and lorry, the
English were going up. All afternoon long, in an un-

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

ending stream, they tramped and rolled up the Flem-
ish highroad, and, wheeling just before me, dipped and
disappeared down a side-street toward "out there."
Beautifully equipped and physically attractive —
the useless cavalry especially ! — sun-tanned and
confident, all ready, I am sure, to die without a
whimper, they were a most likely and impressive-
looking lot. And I suppose that they could have
had little more idea of what they were going into
than you and I have of the geography of the nether
regions.

This was on my left — the English going up. And
on my right, the two streams actually touching and
mingling, the English were coming back. They did
not come as they went, however. They came on their
backs, very still and remote; and all that you were
likely to see of them now was their muddy boots at
the ambulance flap.

Service Sanitaire as we were, I think Section 1
never saw, before or since, such a conglomeration of
wounded as we saw that day at Poperinghe. Here
was the rail-head and the base; here for the moment
were the Red Cross and Royal Army Medical Corps
units shelled out of Ypres; here was the nervous
centre of all that swarming and sweating back-of-the-
front. And here, hour after hour, into and through
the night, the slow-moving wagons, English, French,
and American, rolling on one another's heels, brought
back the bloody harvest.

The English, so returning to Poperinghe gare, were

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very well cared for. By the station wicket a large
squad of English stretcher-bearers, directed, I believe
by a colonel of the line, was unceasingly and expertly
busy. Behind the wicket lay the waiting English
train, steam up for Boulogne, enormously long and
perfectly sumptuous: a super-train, a hospital Pull-
man, all swinging white beds and shining nickel. The
French, alas, were less lucky that day. Doubtless the
unimagined flood of wounded had swamped the gen-
erally excellent service; for the moment, at least,
there was not only no super- train for the French;
there was no train. As for the bunks of the station
warehouses, the hopital d* evacuation, they were of
course long since exhausted. Thus it was that
wounded tirailleurs and Zouaves and black men from
Africa, set down from ambulances, staggered unat-
tended up the station platform, sat and lay anyhow
about the concrete and the sand — no flesh- wounded
hoppers these, but hard-punished men, not a few of
them struck, it was only too manifest, in the seat of
their lives. This was a bloody disarray which I never
saw elsewhere, and hope never to see again. Here, in-
deed, there was moaning to be heard, with the hard
gasp and hopeless coughing of the asphyxUs. And
still, behind this heavy ambulance, rolled another;
and another and another and another.

On my left was the cannon fodder going up; on my
right was the cannon fodder coming back. The whole
mechanics of war at a stroke, you might have said:
these two streams being really one, these men the

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same men, only at slightly different stages of their
experience. But there was still another detail in the
picture we saw that day, more human than the or-
ganized machine, perhaps, and it seemed even more
pathetic.

Behind me as I stood and watched the mingling
streams of soldiers, the little square was black with
rSfugies. Farther back, in the station yard, a second
long train stood steaming beside the hospital train, a
train for the homeless and the waifs of war. And
presently the gate opened, and these crowds, old men
and women and children, pushed through to embark
on their unknown voyage.

These were persons who but yesterday possessed a
local habitation and a name, a background, old ties
and associations, community organization, a life.
Abruptly severed from all this, violently hacked off
at the roots, they were to-day floating units in a name-
less class, droves of a ticket and number, refugies. I
walked up the platform beside their crowded train.
A little group still lingered outside: a boy, a weazened
old man, and three or four black-clad women, simple
peasants, with their household goods in a tablecloth
— waiting there, it may be, for the sight of a familiar
face, missed since last night. I asked the women
where they came from. They said from Boesinghe,
which the Germans had all but entered the night be-
fore. Their homes, then, were in Boesinghe? Oh, no;
their homes, their real homes, were in a little village
some twenty kilometres back. And then they fixed

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themselves permanently in my memory by saying,
quite simply, that they had been driven from their
homes by the coming of the Germans in October
(1914) ; and they had then come to settle with rela-
tives in Boesinghe, which had seemed safe — until
last night. Twice expelled and severed at the roots:
where were they going now? I asked the question;
and one of the women made a little gesture with
her arms, and answered, stoically: 'To France" —
which was, as I consider, the brave way of saying,
God knows. As the case seemed sad to me, I tried to
say something to that effect; and, getting no answer
to my commonplaces, I glanced up, and all the wo-
men's eyes had suddenly filled with tears.

And outside the English were still going up with a
fine tramp and rumble, nice young clerks from Man-
chester and green-grocers' assistants from Totten-
ham Court Road.

I have never forgotten that the very last soldier I
carried in my ambulance (on June 23, 1915) was one
whose throat had been quietly cut while he slept by a
flying sliver of a shell thrown from a gun twenty-two
miles away. But it will not do, I am aware, to over-
emphasize the purely mechanical side of modern war,
the deadly impersonality which often seems to char-
acterize it, the terrible meaninglessness of its deaths
at times. Ours, as I have said, was too much the
hospital view. That the personal equation survives
everywhere, and the personal dedication, it is quite

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

superfluous to say. Individual exaltation, fear and
trie victory over fear, conscious consecration to an
idea and ideal, all the subtle promptings and stark
behavior by which the common man chooses and
avows that there are ways of dying which transcend
all life: this, we know, must have been the experience
of hundreds of thousands of the young soldiers of
France. And all this, beyond doubt, will one day be
duly recorded, in tales to stir the blood and set the
heart afire.

And the fine flourish is not altogether wanting even
now. As some offset to the impression of pure blood
and tears, let me quote a document showing that the
courage of France still sometimes displays itself with
the dash of purple. Before me is a copy of the offi-
cial proclamation of the Mayor of Dunkirk, posted
through the town after the stunning surprise of the
first bombardments. It runs as follows : —

DUNKERQUOIS

Les Bombar dements que nous venous de subir ont fait sur-
tout des victimes dans les rues.

Je recommande essentiellement aux habitants de
s'abriter dans les caves voutees et de ne pas se fier meme a
des ecarts de tir assez longs pour sortir.

Dunkerquois, nous avons a supporter les risques de la
guerre, nous les supportons vaillamment.

Notre ville pent avoir a payer son tribut au vandalisme
de nos ennemis comme d'autres villes, nous garderons hatjt

LES CCEURS.

Les mines seules seront allemandes, la terre r ester a fran-

DUNKIRK AND YPRES

q aise et aprfo la victoire, nous nous retrouverons plus forts,

PLUS RESOLUS ET PLUS FIERS QUE JAMAIS.

VIVE DUNKERQUE TOU JOURS ET VIVE LA FRANCE.1

And the best part of this ringing manifesto, as it
seems to me, is that it is all quite true. Dunkirk will
live long, and so will France; and after the victory
the citizens will find themselves, we cannot doubt,
prouder and more resolute than ever.

In the immense burden which France is bearing,
the sum of the service of the young Americans has
been, of course, quite infinitesimal. As the most
generous and sympathetic persons are always quick-
est to appreciate the intentions of sympathy from
others, it is pleasant to know that the French, char-
acteristically, have not been unmindful of even this
slight thing. But, it is truly said elsewhere, the real
gainers from this relationship have been the Ameri-
cans. Not only is this true; it seems to me there can
be no surprise in it. There can be hardly any of these

1 [Translation]

People op Dunkirk :

The bombardments to which we have been subjected have caused manj
casualties in the streets.

I most emphatically urge all persons to seek shelter in vaulted cellars,
and not to trust even to intervals in the firing long enough to go out.

People of Dunkirk, we have to put up with the hazards of war, and we
are doing so courageously.

Our city may have to pay its tribute to the vandalism of our foes, like
other cities; we will keep our hearts serene and high.

The ruins alone will be German, the soil will remain French, and after
the Victory, we shall meet again, stronger, more determined, and prouder
than ever.

Vive Dunkirk forever, and Vive la France !

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

men who did not set out from home, however uncon-
sciously, for his own good gain; hardly one who did
not feel that if he could but touch this memorable
making of history with however small a hand, if he
could but serve in the littlest this so memorable cause,
he would have a possession to go with him all his days.
Quorum parva pars fuerunt; and — from the little
Latin all schoolboys remember — hcec olim meminisse
juvabit. This is theirs; and it is enough. But should
any of them covet another reward than what they
carry within themselves, I think they have it if this
log-book of their Service seems to show that within
their powers they have deserved the fine name here
bestowed upon them, the Friends of France.

Henry Sydnor Harrison

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"Mon corps a la terre,
Mon ame a Dieu,
Mon coeur a la France."

The trenches, in this part of the Vosges are cut along
the brows of heights which directly overlook the
Rhine Valley. From these summits can be seen, be-
yond the smoke which deepens the mist above the
famous cities of Mulhouse and Colmar, the shadowy
boundary of the Black Forest and the snow-topped
mountains of Switzerland. A few yards behind the
mouths of the communication trenches are the first
dressing-stations, everywhere and always one of
war's most ghastly spots. Paths make their way from
these dressing-stations down the mountain-sides un-
til they become roads, and, once they have become
roads, our work begins.

Nowhere else are foreign soldiers upon German
soil. Nowhere else, from Ypres to Belfort, do the
lines face each other in a mountain range of com-
manding summits and ever-visible village-dotted
valleys. Nowhere else can one study in history's
most famous borderland both war and one of those
problems in nationality which bring about wars.
And surely nowhere else are Detroit-manufactured
automobiles competing with Missouri-raised mules

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

in the business of carrying wounded men over dizzy
roads.

Until our light, cheap cars were risked on these
roads a wounded man faced a ten-mile journey with
his stretcher strapped to the back of a mule or put
on the floor of a hard, springless wagon. Now he is
carried by hand or in wheelbarrows from one half
to two miles. Then in one of our cars there is a long
climb followed by a long descent. And over such
roads! Roads blocked by artillery convoys and
swarming with mules, staggering likely as not be-
neath a load of high-explosive shells ! Roads so nar-
row that two vehicles cannot pass each other when
both are in motion! Roads with a steep bank on
the one side and a sheer drop on the other! Roads
where lights would draw German shells ! Roads even
where horns must not be blown !

Indeed, these roads seem to stand for our whole
work. But they do not by any means represent our
whole work, and it is necessary, if one wants to con-
vey a comprehensive idea of our life, to begin at our
base. This is a village twenty-five miles to the rear,
but strategically located in relation to the various
dressing-stations, sorting-points, base hospitals, and
railheads which we serve, and, in this war of ship-
ping-clerks and petrol, one of those villages which
is as much a part of the front as even the trenches
themselves. It is a "little, one-eyed, blinking sort
of place." It is not as near to the fighting as some
of us, particularly adventurous humanitarians fresh

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from New York and Paris, desire. But, pictur-
esquely placed on the banks of the Moselle and smil-
ing up at the patches of hollow-streaked snow that,
even in late July and August, stand out on the tops
of the Ballon d 'Alsace and the Ballon de Servance,
it is a lovely, long-to-be-remembered spot and every
one in the Section quite naturally speaks of it as
"home."

We are billeted in some twenty-five households
as if we were officers, although our rations are the
rations of a common soldier and our Section rules are
unfailingly to salute officers and even to make our-
selves scarce in hotels and cafes frequented only by
officers. Our lodgings range from hay-lofts to elec-
trically lighted rooms; but the character of our wel-
come is always the same — pleasant, cordial, to be
counted upon — "You are doing something for France
and I will do what I can for you."

One of the fellows, for instance, is quartered over
a cafe. It is a little place, dirty and unattractive.
Before the war an American tourist dropping into
this cafe would probably have been sold a bad grade
of vin ordinaire and been charged too much for it.
But the other day the chap who is billeted there was
a little under the weather and I took his breakfast
to him in his room. I found the cafe full of customers
who had not been served. The woman of the house
was upstairs giving her ambulancier americain a cup
of that great Vosges remedy, linden tea. I inquired
about lunch. But it was no use, there was nothing

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

for me to do. She was going to fix him some lunch
if he felt like eating it, and his dinner, too. Was not
her husband away fighting and had not her eldest
son been marked down as missing ever since his
company took a German trench last June?

Perhaps it is not surprising that we should be so
received in a town where we have been living now
for six months, where we are the best patrons of the
biggest hotel, the most valued customers of half the
shops. But this hospitable reception is by no means
confined to our base. Everywhere we meet with a
courtesy and with a gratitude which bring with them
a very satisfactory sense of doing something worth
while and having it appreciated.

Imagine, for instance, a small town surrounded
by mountains that, sloping gently up from its main
street and railway station, are checkered for some
distance with houses, green fields, and straggly stone
walls, while hidden in their tree-covered summits
are trenches and batteries of 75's, and here and there
hotels where before the war tourists stopped and to
which now the wounded are carried. But on this
day a thick gray mist hangs over the town like a
half -lowered curtain. The guns rest because the gun-
ners cannot see. The mist hides entirely the tops of
the mountains, gives the generally visible houses
and stone walls a dim, unshaped appearance, and
makes hardly noticeable a procession of gray motor
ambulances coming out from the tree-line and mak-
ing their way down into the town.

SUPPLIES FOR THE SOLDIERS BEING CARRIED ON MULES
OVER THE VOSGES MTS.

AT A VALLEY " POSTE " (MITTLACH)

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

Around the railway station is a group of tem-
porary tents, where the wounded are given by the
ladies of the Croix Rouge a cup of coffee or a glass of
citron and water before being packed into the train
sanitaire to begin their long journey to the centre
or south of France. The ambulances evacuating the
hospitals draw up among these tents under the or-
ders of the sergeant in charge. Four or five French
ambulances arrive and are unloaded. Then a smaller
car takes its place in the line. It has a long, low,
gray body with two big red crosses painted on either
side. Beneath the red crosses are the words "Ameri-
can Ambulance," and a name-plate nailed to the
front seat bears the words "Wellesley College."

The driver, after clearly doing his best to make a
smooth stop, gets down and helps in lifting out the
stretchers. One of the wounded, as his stretcher is
slid along the floor of the car and lowered to the
ground, groans pitifully. He had groaned this way
and sometimes even screamed at the rough places
on the road. So the driver's conscience hurt him
as he pulled some tacks out of his tires and waited
for the sergeant's signal to start. It was his first
day's work as an ambulancier. He could still see
every rock and every rut in the last mile of the road
he had just driven over and he wondered if he really
had been as careful as possible.

But he was saved from reproaching himself very
long. An infirmier tapped him on the shoulder and,
telling him that a blessS wished to speak to him, led

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

him to one of the tents. It was the man about whom
he had been unhappy, now more comfortable, al-
though evidently still suffering.

"You are very kind, sir," he said in English that
might have been in other circumstances quite good,
and disclosing a lieutenant's galons as he gave his
right hand to the driver. "You drive carefully. I
know, for I have a car. I don't like to cry — but I
have two broken legs — anything hurts me — but
it is really decent of you fellows to come way over
here — it really is trop gentil . . ." And the driver
went back to his car marvelling for the first of many
times at the sense of sympathy which had made that
pain-stricken officer think of him at all.

One wet night not long ago, the writer was stopped
en route by a single middle-aged soldier trudging his
way along a steep road running from a cantonment
behind the lines to the trenches. Embarrassed a
little at first and pulling at his cap, this man said
that he had heard in the trenches of the American
Ambulance; that a friend had written back that he
had been carried in one of them; that this was the
first time that he had had an opportunity of shaking
hands with one of the volontaires americains. Then,
as I leaned over to say good-bye, he shook both my
hands, offered me a cigarette, shook both my hands
again, saying, "une jolie voiture" and, pointing
towards where in the black distance came the rum-
ble of guns, "Perhaps you will bring me back to-

morrow."

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

If that man, by the way, had asked me for a lift,
as is usually the case when you are stopped like that
on the road, my orders would have been to have re-
fused him, to have said, "C'est defendu" and to
have driven on. The Hague Conventions forbid
carrying any soldiers in ambulances except those
who are wounded and those in the service sanitaire.
It is, putting it mildly, unpleasant to have to refuse
a man a ride when he is wearily facing a long walk
and you are spinning by in an empty ambulance. It
is doubly unpleasant when you feel that this man
would do anything for you from pushing your car
out of a ditch to sharing a canteen. And yet, when-
ever we have to perform this disagreeable duty,
the conversation usually ends with a "Merci quand
meme."

Indeed, discipline in a French soldier seems to be
able to maintain itself remarkably from within.
Officers and men mingle probably more unrestrain-
edly than in any army in the world. A soldier when
talking to an officer does not stand at attention after
the first salute. Privates and officers are frequently
seen in the same room of a hotel or cafe, and some-
times even have their meals in messes that are
scarcely separated at all. But these encroachments
upon military formalism seem to go no deeper than
the frills of efficiency. Orders are obeyed without
"reasoning why," and, as in all conscript armies,
the machinery of punishment is evolved to uphold
authority at all cost. Officers have wide and imme-

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

diate powers of punishment, and the decisions of
courts martial judging the graver offences are swift,
severe, and highly dreaded.

But, returning for the moment to Saint-Maurice,
we park our cars in the public square, on a hillside,
along the fence of the cure's yard and against the
walls of an old church, where their bright red crosses
flame out against the gray flaking stone, and, on a
cold morning, it is always possible to save a lot of
cranking by pushing them down the hill. About half
the Section on any given day are to be found at the
base and "in bounds," which means the square, the
hotel where we have our mess, or the room where one
is billeted. These men compose the reserve list, and
are liable to be called at any minute when they must
"roll," as we say, instantly. The rest of the Section
are on duty in detachments of from one to eight
cars and for periods of from twenty-four hours to
a week at various dressing-stations, sorting-points,
field hospitals, and so forth. The men on reserve are
used to reinforce these places, to fill up quickly
trains sanitaires, to rush to any one of a half-dozen
villages which are sometimes shelled.

Often, when the fighting is heavy, not a man or a
car of Section 3 is to be found at Saint-Maurice.
The repair car even will be driven to some crossroads
or sorting-point where our ambulances bring the
wounded from several dressing-stations. And Mr.
Hill will be away in the staff car dropping in upon
the widely separated places where his men are work-

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ing to see that all is going well or to know the reason
why.

Mr. Lovering Hill, at the outbreak of the war, was
practising law in New York City. He had been edu-
cated at Harvard and in Switzerland, and, speaking
French as well as English, and thoroughly under-
standing the French temperament and people, he
immediately enlisted with the American Ambulance
of Neuilly as a driver. In six months he was pro-
moted to the rank of squad leader, and, since last
July, ranking as a first lieutenant in the French army,
he has been in charge of the work of Section Sani-
taire N° 3, succeeding Mr. Richard Lawrence, of
Boston, who had been compelled to return to the
United States. Mr. Hill believes in never letting the
reins of discipline drag, and yet he gets along fa-
mously with all except those who have a habit of
recalling in some way that they are volunteers.

A French lieutenant and an official interpreter
are also attached to the Section. We are partly under
the control of the Sanitary Service and partly of the
Automobile Service. The French personnel are a
link between the Automobile Service and our unit,
and they are busy from morning until night keeping
abreast of the required reports, for five-day reports
must be made on the consumption of gasoline, the
number of miles run, the number of wounded car-
ried, the oil, carbide, and spare parts needed, the
rations drawn, and, in great detail, any change in
personnel.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

There are no orderlies or mechanics attached to
our Section and each driver is responsible for the
upkeep and repair of his own car. We do as much
of this work as possible in the square where we park
our cars. So we patch tires, scrape carbon, and
change springs while the church bell rings persist-
ently and mournfully for masses and funerals and
while the people who sit and watch us from their
shop windows laugh at our language as much as if
they understood it.

In general charge of this work and of a blacksmith
shop that we have turned into a workroom is a so-
called Mechanical Department composed of the two
drivers who know the most about automobiles. And
so successfully has the system worked out that, lay-
men though most of us be, none of our " Chinese Rolls
Royces" or "Mechanical Fleas" — as an English
Red Cross corps in the neighborhood has nicknamed
our Fords — has been so severely "punished" that
its repair has been beyond the power of its driver in-
structed and assisted by the Mechanical Department.

We receive the one sou a day, which, in addition
to allowances to wife, if any, and to children, if any,
is the wage of a French poilu. We draw, as has al-
ready been mentioned, an ordinary soldier's rations:
plenty of nourishing but rather solid bread, which,
with the date of its baking stamped upon it, comes
in big round loaves that we hold against our chest
and cut with our pocket knife in true poilu fashion;
rice or potatoes, generally rice; coffee, sugar, salt, and

A "POSTE DE SECOURS" IN THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT

SHARING MEALS AT A POSTE

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

sometimes fresh meat, but ordinarily canned beef,
called by the French private singe, or monkey meat.
At our own request we get the cash equivalent of our
wine and tobacco allowances, and this is used to help
defray the expenses of having our food cooked and
served in the best hotel the town offers. But with
these exceptions — French tobacco especially may
be put in the category of acquired tastes — we take
and eat everything that is given to us with a very
good grace. And although it is possible, especially
at Saint-Maurice, to add variously and cheaply to
this diet at one's own expense, it probably is a fact
that those of the Section who, in a spirit of "playing
the game" all the way through, have stuck to the
rations weigh more and feel better than when they
first took the field, in spite of the constant drenchings
one gets and the stretches of work without sleep.

The hours of our meals — served by the untiring,
red-cheeked Fanny — are a little more American
than military for those taking their turn on the re-
serve list "at home." But Mr. HilPs rule requires
military punctuality on penalty of washing the dirti-
est car in the square. This is also the punishment
inflicted upon any one who does not get his car
properly ready for morning inspection, who is not
in his room by nine o'clock, who has any trouble on
the road from an insufficient supply of "gas" or oil,
who is tardy in handing in reports, or breaks in any
way the rules from time to time posted in the mess-
room.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

"In a word, you are military and not military,
but I am going to pay you the greatest compliment
in my power, by treating you as I would any French
soldiers under my command," the Commandant in
charge of the Automobile Service of the army to
which we are attached said to us on one occasion.
And it has been the clear purpose of our two chiefs
— first Mr. Lawrence and now Mr. Hill — to live
up to the responsibilities of that compliment. This
is mainly done by example and through the force of
a very real esprit de corps, but washing another man's
car has been found a useful daily help for daily dis-
ciplinary needs.

Away from our base, in our nomadic dressing-
station-to-hospital existence, we are often pretty
much "on our own." This part of our life begins in
a valley reached through a famous pass. Starting
from the valley of the Moselle easy grades along a
splendid highway crowded with trucks, staff cars,
wine carts, and long lines of yellow hay wagons,
bring one to a tunnel about three hundred yards in
length. In the middle of this tunnel is a low white
marble stone with a rounded top that until a year
ago last August marked the boundary between
France and Germany. To an American driving an
automobile in the dim tunnel light this stone is sim-
ply something not to be hit. To the French who
have fought so bravely that it may no longer stand
for a boundary it is a sacred symbol. I have seen the

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

eyes of returning wounded glisten at the sight of it.
I have heard companies of chasseurs, as they passed
it going to the trenches, break into singing or whis-
tling their famous Sidi-Brahim march.

Beyond this tunnel the road, wrapping itself
around the mountain like a broad, shining ribbon,
descends into a fertile commercial valley in sweep-
ing curves sometimes a kilometre long: on one side
are high gray rocks where reservists seem to hang
by their teeth and break stones; on the other, a sheer
drop into green fields, behind the tunnel-pierced
summit, in front the red-roofed houses of several
Alsatian villages nestling against yet another line of
mountain-tops. And along this road we have made
our way at midnight, at daybreak, in the late after-
noon, running cautiously with wounded and run-
ning carelessly empty. We are at home, too, in the
villages to which it leads, with the life-size portrayals
of the Crucifixion that are everywhere, even in fields
and nailed to trees in the mountains, with the gray
stone churches and their curious onion-shaped towers
and clamorous bells.

The appearance of an American Ambulance in the
villages is no longer a novelty, sentries let us pass
without a challenge, school children do not any
more rush over to us at recess time, or soldiers crowd
around us and say to one another, ' * Voilh la voiture
americaine." And we have friends everywhere: the
officer who wants to speak English and invites us
so often to lunch with him, the corporal of engineers

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

who was a well-known professor, the receiving ser-
geant who was a waiter at the Savoy Hotel in Lon-
don, the infirmier who was in charge of the French
department of one of the largest of New York's pub-
lishing houses.

But cooks are the people we cultivate the most
assiduously. It is forbidden to leave your car and
eat in ajcafe. Besides, the time of day when we are
hungriest is the time — maybe midnight or early
morning — when no cafes are open or when we are
marooned on some mountain-top. For single cars
and small wandering detachments there are only
informal arrangements for "'touching" rations. So
we depend upon the good-will of the chief cooks and
we seldom go hungry. But the stanchest sustainer
of every American Ambulance driver presides over
the kitchen of the largest sorting-point in the valley.
We call this cheery-voiced, big-hearted son of the
Savoy mountains, who before the war washed auto-
mobiles in Montmartre, "Le Capitaine," "Joe Caw-
thorne," "Gunga Din." He is never tired or out of
spirits. He never needs to sleep. It will be a rush
period. We will leave our ambulances only to get
gasoline, oil, and water while the wounded are being
discharged. "Le Capitaine," too, will be up to his
neck in work, cooking a meal for a hundred people,
hurrying out at the medecin chefs order, soup for
thirty and tea for twenty more — and still he will
find time to run out to our cars with a cup of coffee
and a slice of cheese. The only occasion on record

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

of anything from "Joe Cawthorne" but a word and
a smile of cheer was once when one of the fellows,
who felt that to his coffee he owed his escapes from
sleeping at the wheel and running off the bank, and
therefore his life, returned to America, first giving
"Le Capitaine " an envelope with some money in it.
"Jamais, jamais," he said, returning the envelope
and viciously picking some flies out of his coffe chau-
dron.

There is no place like the front for the Long Arm
of Coincidence to play pranks. I have known two
university football stars to meet for the first time
since their gridiron days on a shelled curve of a nar-
row road — each in charge of an ambulance and each
down in the road driving some wandering cows out
of their way. I have known the young men to cele-
brate the Fourth of July on their voyage over to do
ambulance work, in a way that drew forth the gentle
rebukes of a Protestant minister who happened to
be a passenger on the same boat. They left him on
the docks at Liverpool and, along with his advice,
he passed out of their minds until two months later
one of them met him in a general's car in Alsace.
He stopped and told this fellow that he was preaching
a series of sermons at the front and invited him to
come and hear him the next Sunday in a near-by
town, adding that among other things he thought
he would touch upon the question of "War and
Temperance."

Speaking of the Fourth of July reminds me that

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on the national French holiday of the Fourteenth of
July, I saw General Joffre in never-to-be-forgotten
circumstances. He was spending this day in Alsace,
and when early that morning I approached a little
village in an empty ambulance, I was stopped by a
sentry and, after being asked if I had wounded
aboard, told that General Joffre was making a
speech in the town square and that I would have
to wait until he had finished before I could get
through.

Of course I at once left my ambulance and ran to
the square, knowing how rarely one ever saw quota-
tion marks after the Generalissime's name. I was,
however, too late to hear what he had to say, for,
laconic as ever, he had finished speaking when I came
within earshot. Opposite a gray brick church was a
line of eight flag-bedecked automobiles, six for the
Generalissime and his staff and two for emergencies
which, I am told, is the way he always travels. Gen-
eral Joffre himself, standing on the ground and sur-
rounded by officers ablaze with decorations, was
listening to fifty little Alsatian girls singing the
"Marseillaise." They were finishing the last verse
when I arrived, and when their sweet childish voices
no longer rang out in contrast to the brilliant but
grim surroundings, General Joffre, stepping out from
among his officers, held one of the prettiest of the
little girls high in his powerful arms and kissed
her twice. The next day driving through this town
again I noticed the following sign : —

H
<

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

Le General Joffre,

Generalissime des Armees de la Republique

a dejeune dans cette maison.

Le 15*me Bataillon de Chasseurs Alpins occupant cette region.

Delivree par lui le 7 Aout 1914.

Alsace has been for forty years German territory.
For forty years young Alsatians have been forced to
learn German in the schools, to serve in the German
army, to be links in the civil and military chains
which bound them to the Kaiser's empire. A few
days ago I took the photograph of an Alsatian girl
standing in the doorway of her home, which she said
she was going to send through Switzerland to her
brother in the German army "somewhere in Rus-
sia." But French hearts doubtless beat under many
a German uniform, and those of us who have lived
in Alsace are confident that re-annexation by France
will not be a slow or a difficult process. Alsace has
been tied to France by something which forty busy
years have not found a way to change. The armies
of the Republic have been received with an open
hand and an open heart. I know of a fine field hospi-
tal organized and staffed entirely by Alsatian ladies
happy to be nursing wounded French soldiers. I
know of Alsatian boys, at the outbreak of the war
not yet old enough to have commenced their Ger-
man military training, who are to-day volunteer, and
only volunteer, French soldiers.

We have drawn our impressions of Alsace chiefly
from five or six towns in a commercial valley. They
are subject to long-range shelling and bombs dropped

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

from aeroplanes. Indeed, my first day in Alsace was
spent in the yard of a hospital contrived out of a
schoolhouse. Our cars were parked beneath the win-
dows of one of its wings, and all day long one heard
the pitiful moans of a mother and her two little
daughters who had been wounded the night before
when the Germans had dropped half a dozen shells
into the town where they lived.

But these towns seem to be, on the whole, cheer-
ful, prosperous places. Soldiers resting from the
trenches flirt the time away with bilingual Alsatian
girls. Horns, claxons, and the hum of motors make
in the little mountain-smothered streets the noises
of Broadway or Piccadilly. The cafes and stores are
full from morning until eight o'clock, when all lights
must be put out.

Nothing is taken by the soldiery without being
paid for, a fact that was brought sharply home to
me on one occasion. We needed wood for the kitchen-
fire of a little dressing-station hidden on a tree-cov-
ered mountain-top. I picked up an axe and started
to get some exercise and the wood for the fire at the
same time; but the cook excitedly told me that not
even in that out-of-the-way place, unless he had the
proper military authorization, would he dare cut
down a tree, because the commune must be paid
for, every twig of it.

But, interesting as these towns are, it is beyond
them that we do our most useful work. I am writ-

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

ing, as it happens, at a dressing-station between the
artillery and the infantry lines where two of our cars
are always on duty. The driver of the other car,
eight months ago, was in charge of a cattle ranch in
the Argentine, and last May, a passenger on the ill-
fated Lusitania, was rescued after four hours in the
water. He is on his back tightening bolts underneath
his car, and a hole in the left sole of his projecting
shoes tells of hours with the low speed jammed on,
for this is the way we have to drive down as well as
up hill.

We are at one end of a valley which, opening grad-
ually, runs into the basin of the Rhine. Our two
ambulances are backed up against a hay-loft dress-
ing-station among a little group of houses frequently
mentioned in the communiques. At this minute the
place is as peaceful as any Florida glade; it does not
seem possible that war can be so near, so completely
hushed. There is little military in the appearance
of a few stretcher-bearers, dressed in the discarded
clothes of peace, throwing stones into an apple tree;
there is not a gun to be seen; there is not a sound to
be heard unless you listen to catch the splash of a
mountain stream or the tinkle of the bells tied
around the necks of the cows grazing high up on a
green but ladder-steep mountain-side. Coming down
the road towards me is a little barefooted boy driv-
ing a half-dozen cows to where some girls are waiting
in a pen to milk them. A little later, when my com-
panion and I sit down to dinner with the young

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

medecin auxiliaire in charge of the post, there will
be some of this milk on the table.

But long before dinner-time the whole surrounding
aspect may change as if by black magic. Tree-hidden
batteries, some only a hundred yards away and some
on the tops of neighboring and surrounding moun-
tains, may speak together with their "brutal lungs"
until the echoes, rolling and accumulating, make a
grand, persistent roar. Even trench-weary soldiers
will unconsciously duck their heads and stand ready
to run to the bomb-proofs if the answering German
shells begin to fall close to them. After dark the
wounded will arrive, carried on stretchers, rested on
men's shoulders, or pushed in wheelbarrows, to the
hay-loft where a doctor, working almost entirely
without anaesthetics, treats such cases as the doc-
tors in the trench dressing-stations passed without
attention.

By this time also, on a night when many wounded
are arriving, six or eight more American ambulances
will be summoned by telephone. There will be no
headlights used; only a great swinging of lanterns
and much shouting back and forth in French and
English. Although the firing after dark will not be
so general, one or two batteries will continue to break
out sharply every few minutes. One of our squad
leaders will be on hand as driver in charge of the
situation. "Are you ready to roll?" he will call to
somebody as the doctor comes up and speaks to him.
A dark figure standing by a car will lean over and

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

spin a crank, an engine will sputter and pour forth
smoke, for we must use a double supply of oil on
these grades. Then an ambulance will back up to
the door of the barn and the driver, leaving his en-
gine throttled down, will help in lifting the stretch-
ers.

To go from this place to the sorting-point behind
the lines to which the wounded are taken is the worst
run we have. It means almost always wondering if
your car will make the grades, if you acted prop-
erly in letting yourself be persuaded to take three
wounded instead of the specified two. It means
coming upon comrades en panne and lending a hand
or hurrying on with the distress signal, stopping to
pour water into your boiling radiator, halting to
pass convoys, arguments, decisions, " noms-de-Dieu"
backing to a wider place, wheels that nearly go over
the edge, pot-bellied munition-wagons that scrape
off your side boxes, getting into a ditch and having
to be pulled out by mules or pushed out by men.

It is a journey fraught with worry, for there is
always the danger of delay when delay may mean
death and is sure to mean suffering for the wounded
in your car. And sometimes when, with bad cases
aboard, you are stuck and can't get out until some-
body turns up to help you, it is unbearable to stay
near your car and hear their pitiful groans.

But the down part of the journey is full of more
acute dangers. You are at the mercy of your brakes.
If they fail you, there is only the bank. A quick turn

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

of the steering-wheel and you are all right; that is,
there will be only a cruel shaking-up for the men you
are carrying and a broken radius rod or perhaps a
smashed radiator. But this is better than going over
the bank and better than running amuck through
a train of mules with their deadly loads of explosives.

Only during the last two months have we been
able to use the first ten kilometres of this road at all.
Even now for the climbing part of the journey we
take none but the more seriously wounded, leaving
the rest to be carried in light wagons pulled by mules,
until they get to some mountain-top relay-point
where our cars are stationed. Most of these relay-
points are very close to one or several French batter-
ies. Some of them are established in the midst of
thriving cantonments buried in the woods and with-
in sight of the German trenches on a sister mountain-
top. Others, farther removed from the enemy lines
and higher above the level of destruction, are on sum-
mits suitable only for the biggest of the French guns
and reached in turn only by the very long-range Ger-
man guns.

Such a place is a mountain-top at which we feel
almost as much at home as at our base, for eight of
our cars are always on duty at this place, each man
serving for a week at a time, and one man being re-
lieved every day. It is one of those plateau-shaped
eminences which are mentioned in geographies as
distinguishing the Vosges from the Alps and the
Pyrenees. It is treeless through exposure to the

I— I
P

o
u

U
Q

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

wind, and its brow slopes gradually towards the
French side, with a succession of cuplike hollows
tenanted by brush-covered bomb-proofs and dug-
outs and horse-sheds. Other than topographical
concealments are also employed; gray horses are
dyed brown and groups of road-builders when at
work in some particularly exposed place carry, like
the army that went against Macbeth, umbrellas of
branches.

We are housed here in a long, low shack built
against the side of the crest. Violent storms some-
times take the roof off this shack with the conse-
quent drenching of the surgeon in charge, ourselves,
a half-dozen stretcher-bearers and as many mule-
drivers. Bunks are built crosswise against the side
of the walls, and over some of these bunks the words
"Pour Intransportables" are written. The rest, how-
ever, are occupied by people on duty here, for it is
merely a relay-point, and the wounded, unless un-
able to stand a further journey or arriving by mules
in numbers greater than we can handle, are merely
changed from one mode of conveyance to another
and given such attention in passing as they may need.

When one of the beds for intransportables is occu-
pied, it generally means that the man dies in a few
days and is buried close by, a corporal of stretcher-
bearers, who was before the war a Roman Catholic
missionary in Ceylon, borrowing from one of us a
camera to take for the dead man's family a photo-
graph of the isolated grave marked with one of those

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

simple wooden crosses from which no mile of north-
ern France is free. Deaths of this sort are peculiarly
sad. Anybody who has nursed in the wards of a
military hospital will tell you how soldiers, seasoned
in trenches that high explosives and mines and
hand-grenades have turned into shambles, will grow
gloomy when one man in their ward dies. It is the
same way with these single deaths and lonely funer-
als at the front

Generals, of course, stand for the "larger issues"
of the war; it is their decisions that figure in to-mor-
row's communiques. But at the front, doctors repre-
sent destiny in a much more picturesque way: it is
no use putting these blessSs in an ambulance; death
will close over them quite as gently here as twenty
kilometres farther to the rear. This man's rheuma-
tism demands that he be sent to Lyons or Mar-
seilles; that one has five days in a base hospital
and is in the trenches for the next death revel. A
businesslike surgeon pronounces his judgments in a
ghastly poste de secours, — it is- nothing compared
with "strategical necessities," — it will have no
place beside announcements of yards of trenches
taken and yards of trenches lost, — and yet, it is life
or death for some brave soldier and all in the world
that counts for some family circle.

These mountain-tops are often for weeks on end
bathed in a heavy mist varied by rainstorms. At

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

such times when there is no work to do, — and
very frequently there are no wounded to carry for
twenty-four hours or more, — the surgeon, our-
selves, the brancardierSy and the mule-drivers, close
in around the stove. One of these brancardiers,
or stretcher-carriers, was transferred after being
wounded at the battle of the Marne from the front-
line troops to the Service Sanitaire, and before the
war he had served five years in the Foreign Legion
in Africa. His stories of this period are endless and
interesting, and, after listening to them for a week,
we all go back to our base calling soldiers nothing
but poilus; coffee, jus; wine, pinard; canned beef,
singe; army organization, systeme D. There is also a
good deal of reading done by many of the Section
on the rainy days of no work. It is part of the daily
relieving man's unofficial but well-understood duties
to bring along any magazines and newspapers that
he can get hold of, and generally, too, books gradu-
ally accumulate and grow to be considered as a sort
of library that must not be taken away. Indeed,
at one poste de secours our library consists at present
of two or three French novels and plays, "The New-
comes," a two-volume "Life of Ruskin," "Tess of
the D'Urbervilles," and "Les Miserables."

When a group of men are on duty at an isolated
poste de secours like this, they take turns in carry-
ing the wounded who may arrive, the man who has
made the last trip going to the bottom of the list.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

And there is something comfortable about feeling
that you are the last to "roll" on a stormy night
when every plank in the little hut rattles and groans,
when the wind shrieks in the desolate outside, when
the sinister glare of the trench rockets gleams
through the heavy blackness like a flash of lightning,
and the wet mule-drivers who borrow a little of your
fire shake their heads and pointing towards the road
say, " Un mauvais chemin" And then, as you settle
a little deeper in your blankets and blow out your
lantern and assure yourself for the last time as to
where your matches are and how much gasoline you
have in your tank, you are pretty apt to think, be-
fore you go to sleep, of the men a little way off in
the rain-soaked trenches.

They are certainly not very far away. Only over
there on the next ridge where the shells are explod-
ing. They have been there, you know, without relief
for ten days. You remember when they marched
up the mountain to take their turn. How cheery
and soldierlike they were! Not one of them, like
you, is sleeping in blankets. They won't, like you,
go back to-morrow to a pleasant dinner, with pleas-
ant friends, in a pleasant hotel, and out of sound,
too, of those awful guns. Some will come back and
you will carry them in your ambulance. And some
will never come back at all. Well . . .

"Did I leave that spark-plug wrench under the
car? God knows I can never find it on a night like
this and I change a plug every trip ! "

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

"Wake up! Don't talk in your sleep I "
"What, is it my turn to roll? Wounded?'1
"No, Steve is en panne halfway down the moun-
tain."

And you begin to take things in with one of the
Section's sous-chefs leaning over your cot with the
news that the first man on the list has a load of
wounded and has met with an accident. The others
are waked up too. Some are left to take care of such
other wounded as may arrive and the rest form a res-
cue party. Two ride in the rescue ambulance; two
more probably walk. The wounded are moved from
the broken-down car to the other ambulance, and
then daylight finds three or four of us rain-drenched
and mud-smeared, changing a brake-band or digging
into a carburetor.

The arrival of the relieving car at one of those posts
on a rainy day, when every one of us is to be found
within twenty feet of the stove, means a demand in
chorus for mail and after that for news, especially
Section gossip from Headquarters, which means who
has had to wash cars and who has broken down en
route.

"Number 52 runs like a breeze now. I drove it
yesterday and it climbed the col on high with two
wounded," the newcomer will say, producing some
contribution to the mess.

"And last night, there was a call for three cars at
midnight. Did n't any of the wounded come this way?

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

So-and-So had magneto trouble bringing back his
first load. He said Henry Ford himself could not have
started the boat. So the repair car went out at four
o'clock this morning.' '

"That boy certainly has his troubles. Do you re-
member the time he had two blow-outs and four
punctures in twenty-four hours and then had all his
brake-bands go at once ? It was two miles he ran to
get another car to take his wounded."

"He looked low when he came in about breakfast
time," somebody else will put in.

"I tell you he will use too much oil. It goes
through these old cars like a dose of salts," a third
will add.

On bad days the discussion will go on this way un-
til time for the next meal. But on clear days during
summer and early autumn weather, we have stayed
indoors very little. The air is champagne-like and the
view on all sides magnificent. It is possible, also, from
a number of these eminences to follow in a fascinating
fashion the progress of artillery duels, and, with a
good pair of glasses, even to see infantry advancing
to the attack. When the cannonading is heavy the
whole horizon pops and rumbles and from the sea of
green mountains spread out before you rise puffs of
shrapnel smoke, flaky little clouds about the size of a
man's hand and pale against the tree-tops, as one
thinks of death as pale. They hover, sometimes too
many at a time to count, above the mountains and
then sink down again into the general greenness. The

THE SECTION IN ALSACE RECONQUISE

sky, too, is generally dotted with these same little
flaky clouds when aeroplanes are abroad. And aero-
planes are abroad every fair day, for they are seldom
or never hit and brought down, although the anti-air-
craft guns, especially when hedging them in with
"barrier fire," seem to limit their activities.

Soldiers, as I have said, march by these posts on
their way to and from the trenches. Whenever they
are allowed to break ranks near our cars they crowd
around us with little bottles in their hands asking for
gasoline to put in cigarette lighters which they make
out of German bullets. Most of these men belong to
battalions of Chasseurs Alpins, and I do not suppose
there are any finer soldiers in the world than those
stocky, merry-eyed men from the mountain prov-
inces of France, with their picturesque caps and
their dark-blue coats set off by their horison-blue
trousers. They are called, indeed, the "blue devils,"
and when the communiques say, "After a heavy shell-
ing of some of the enemy heights in the Vosges our
infantry advanced to the attack and succeeded in
taking so many of the enemy trenches," it is probably
the Chasseurs Alpins who have led the way in the
face of the hand-grenades and machine-gun fire and
the streams of burning oil that, in this country es-
pecially, make the "meaning of a mile" so terrible.

One of our Section who was compelled to return to
America the other day took with him as his single
keepsake a crumpled photograph with a signature

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

scrawled in one corner. It was of a sous-qfficier of a
famous battalion of Chasseurs Alpins. His heavy
pack was jauntily thrown over his shoulders; his ber-
ret was rakishly tilted to one side; and on his breast
gleamed the green and red ribbon of the Croix de
Guerref the crimson of the Legion d'Honneur, and the
yellow of the MSdaille Militaire.

You could find no better symbol of the laughing
gallantry, the sturdy strength, and the indomitable
courage of France.

Preston Lockwood

CHASSEVKALPIN 135

LAST DAYS IN ALSACE

By December 20, the approximate date of the begin-
ning of the French attack upon the German positions
on Hartmannsweilerkopf, the headquarters of Sec-
tion 3 of the American Ambulance had been moved
temporarily to a place called Moosch. Here was lo-
cated a large modern hospital to which the wounded
were brought from the dressing-stations in the moun-
tains, two or three kilometres behind the lines of ad-
vance trenches. From this hospital the blesses were
moved into the interior as fast as their condition
would permit. It was the duty of the small American
Ford ambulances to bring the wounded from these
mountain stations down to the hospital at Moosch.
Moosch, a typical Alsatian town, consisting of a
few lar£e buildings, the "Mairie," the church, a
hotel or two, and perhaps a weaving mill, about
which are clustered the homes and stores and cafes or
combination of these latter, is situated in the valley
of the river Thur. This valley runs up, and west or
slightly north of west, to the divide, between the
Moselle River and the Thur, this divide making the
old boundary between French and German territory;
and down in a south of east direction until the moun-
tains end and we enter the plain that forms part of
the drainage basin of the Rhine. Moosch is about

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halfway down this valley and about twelve kilo-
metres from the front, which was on the last row of
hills before the beginning of this plain.

The valley itself ranges from one to two kilo-
metres in width and the green forest-clad mountains
rise on each side to a height of three hundred to four
hundred metres. In the floor of the valley were
orchards, open fields, and small towns. Down the
centre of it was the broad road which continued up
and over the divide into France. It formed, aside
from an aerial tramway that the French constructed
over the divide especially for this war, the only
avenue of traffic for the supplies of ammunition,
guns, food, etc., for the armies that were situated
in this district. As a consequence it was night and
day a scene of activity throughout its entire length.
Down the valley this road had two important
branches, one at a point six kilometres from Moosch
and another at eight. Both these branches followed
the course of small creeks that feed the river Thur,
up and up the small valleys through which the
streams flowed, then turned up the mountain-side
and climbed to the top of one of the larger hills.
One route was used for traffic ascending, the other
for all descending, except for any that was required
by Red Cross Stations or artillery posts along the
way. In this manner much passing of the up and
down streams of wagons, mules, motor trucks, etc.,
which would have been well-nigh impossible on these
steep, narrow roads, was avoided.

LAST DAYS IN ALSACE

On the mountain-top was a small space, some-
what cleared of the forest growth, where three roads
met, two that have already been mentioned and an-
other that went over one shoulder of the mountains
and down to an advance poste de secours, practically
under Hartmannsweilerkopf itself. In one angle of
the "Y" formed by these roads were a few roughly
constructed buildings for taking care of the wounded,
cooking, etc., and in another nothing but the steep
slope of the mountain with a cabin or two tucked
close against it amid the pine woods. In the last
angle was a small graveyard where lay the men who
had died from wounds there at the station or had
been killed during the bombardment of some local
artillery post or of the road. Next to this graveyard
was a limited parking-space for the ambulances, and
beyond this the cosy little building, the poste de se-
cours, where the French stretcher-bearers and Amer-
ican drivers ate and slept together when not at work.

This place was popular among the Americans, at
first, at least, before the Germans captured a colonel
with telltale maps upon his person, and their guns
began to find and make uninhabitable a spot that
had once seemed a secure retreat. Up in the fresh
air and ozone of the pine woods, it was hard, in spite
of the graveyard near by and the ever-passing stream
of ammunition wagons or pack trains, not to think
of this place as a pleasant vacation ground. The
Frenchmen, too, were wonderful companions, play-
ful as boys of ten, and kind and generous to a fault.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

After a snowstorm, unless there was a great deal of
work, there was sure to be a tremendous snow battle
in progress, and the Frenchmen, old territorials
some of them, forty to fifty to sixty years of age,
would be as hard after one another as boys in their
mimic wars. Their generosity went so Tar as surren-
dering their bunks to the Americans while they slept
out in the ambulances. At times the little poste de
secours would be a scene of revelry, the professional
entertainer taking part in the programme of the
evening with the country songster. More often,
however, the Frenchmen were busy and the Ameri-
cans would amuse themselves with some deep, pro-
tracted argument or read the latest book on the war
that some kind friend had sent to a member of the
Section. At night the little hut had its bunks filled
to overflowing, but sleeping was generally good, un-
less your bedfellow happened to be a soldier dream-
ing of battle or a mule-driver dreaming of swearing
at his mules. At night there were always one or two
interruptions, especially whenever an ambulance-
driver was wanted. Those who were sent to call him
always succeeded in waking the whole lot of sleepers
before finding the man whose turn it was to "roll."

This "night rolling," as it is called, is not the easiest
thing to do by any means. The road, steep and nar-
row and rough at any time, would in snowy or rainy
weather cause an occasional sinking of the heart to
the best of drivers. To these difficulties was added
the necessity of passing the slowly descending trains

WINTER DAYS IN ALSACE

LAST DAYS IN ALSACE

of ammunition wagons and mules. On one stretch
of road no lights were permitted, as they would
have disclosed its location to the Germans. On nights
when there was no moonlight and heavy mists en-
shrouded the mountains, it was a trying nerve strain
to come down this bit of road. The history of every
car would be full of stories of narrow escapes from
running into wagons, mules, or men, or running over
the edge of the road or against the side of the hill.
These difficulties and trials, however, were n't what
would occupy the mind when the German shells
began breaking near; they lose their importance
entirely. One can get used to the blind driving on a
dark night, but never to the high-explosive shells.
Even on the floor of the valley where the road is
level, the thrills might not cease, for here it has
been a common experience to run into an unlighted
wagon or to be smashed by a heavy, ponderous motor
truck. Perhaps it would be a mere matter of get-
ting ditched in the effort to get out of the way of the
latter. But with the Ford this was never a serious
trouble, as eight or ten men, and they were always
to be had in a few moments on any part of the road,
could quickly lift it out and put it on the road again.
Out of the most severe smash-ups the Fords have
emerged supreme and in every case proved the state-
ment that a "Ford car can be bent but not broken."
At the hospital the wounded would be taken out,
new blankets and stretchers put in, the gas tank
filled, and the car sent up the mountain again to wait

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

for more blessSs unless it was time for the driver to
turn in and get a bit of sleep.

During the day a call would very often mean a
trip down the other side of the mountain to the ad-
vance posts nearer Hartmannsweilerkopf. While
day driving has n't the terrors of night driving, yet
the road near these two posts and the posts them-
selves were more often the object for German fire,
and it was with a little feeling of dread that one went
there. The road down to it was exceedingly steep in
places and few cars could make the return trip with
a full load. There never was any anxiety about stall-
ing, however, for a little assistance from eight or ten
soldiers would send the car on its way again. Many
a time a driver would unconsciously arrive at the
posts at a time of bombardment and be told to leave
his machine and hurry to an abri. An abri is a cave
or dug-out in the side of the mountain offering pro-
tection against the German shells. All along the
mountain roads these little places of refuge began to
appear after the Germans had learned how to drop
shells consistently near these routes, and to see them
thus was a real comfort to the mind whenever the
whistle of a shell sounded unpleasantly loud and near.
These caves were not always in a finished state, as a
big broad-shouldered driver learned to his discomfort
and the vexation of his two comrades. They were
taking a look at Hartmanns from a portion of the
road whence it can be seen, when the portentous
sound of the flying shells began which kept coming

LAST DAYS IN ALSACE

nearer and nearer. The Americans turned and ran
up the road to one of these abris, the big man lead-
ing. He darted for the cave entrance, but his body
was just too big and he was wedged tightly between
the stone sides, while his two comrades pounded on
his back clamoring for admittance. He decided it
was more comfortable and safe flat against the rocks
in front of the car, and safer, too, than in a hole the
entrance to which might so easily be closed.

One was not always compelled to be conscious of
such unpleasant things as bursting shells. At slack
periods when neither side was firing, and the traffic
was not too heavy up and down the roads, the trip
up and over the mountains could be one of the
pleasantest of rides. Sometimes after a snowstorm
the mountain forest scenes were magnificent, and
there was the occasional wonderful expanse of view
over valley and plain below. Away off on the German

side could be seen the town of M which was

brightly illuminated at night. The Germans seemed
indifferent to the fact that these lights were a great
temptation to the French gunners. As far as known,
the latter seldom yield to this temptation to bombard
civilians despite the fact that the Germans were shell-
ing towns, needlessly it seemed, in the territory held
by France. Many pleasant rides after the attack, in
the warm sunshine of the spring days that came in
January, will stay in the minds of the drivers, a
contrast to the rushing trips taken in slush and mud
and snow during the height of the attack.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

The time spent in Moosch at the hospital was
nearly always a period of activity and interest.
There were sure to be minor repairs needing atten-
tion, tire-changing to be done, and often more diffi-
cult matters to attend to, such as eliminating the
knock in an engine, changing brake-bands, or putting
in a new rear axle. The hospital itself looked across
the valley to the hills beyond, upon one of which was
anchored a small sausage-shaped balloon, such as
is used all along the French line for observation pur-
poses. One hundred metres back of the hospital
rose the hills forming the other side of the valley.
On the slope of one of these was the rapidly growing
graveyard where the bodies of the soldiers who had
died at the hospitals were laid. Among them was
the body of Richard Hall, the young American am-
bulance driver who lost his life during the attack,
when his machine was struck by a shell on the road
up the mountain. On the east side of the hospital
passed a small road that led up to the graveyard,
and beyond this was an open field where an aero
bomb fell with disastrous results to one fowl and to
the windows of the hospital on that side. In the
hospital yard on this side were put the ambulances
needing repairing, and in rush times part of the other
side of the yard was also required. Here was rather
a good-sized building, the front end of which was the
morgue and the other end the laundry. Behind it
was a small shelter where the bloody stretchers were
cleaned. It was in these surroundings, with the rows

EFFECT OF GERMAN SHELLS IN ALSACE (THANN)

ON THE ROAD TO HARTMANNSWEILERKOPF, DECEMBER, 1915

LAST DAYS IN ALSACE

of coffins on one side and the stretcher-cleaning on
the other, that much of the repair work was done
during the height of the attack. Here, too, would
form the military funeral processions that went with
the bodies to the graveyard on the hill. Two fu-
nerals a day of one to five coffins was the regular
schedule in the busy days of the attack. One of the
most intensely interesting sights was the gathering of
the whole regiment, of those who were left after the
attack, about this graveyard to give a last formal
salute to their departed comrades.

Hardly a day passed during the period of the at-
tack when the village was not shelled, and when it
was clear, the German aeroplanes would appear and
drop their bombs or smoke signals, or seek to destroy
the observation balloon of the French, descending as
near to it as they dared. One of the prettiest sights
of the war is to see the little tufts of cloud appear
near the course of the speeding machine whenever
the shrapnel bombs burst. The cloudlets formed by
the French shells are white, by those of the Germans,
black. It was surprising how difficult it seemed for
gunners to get anywhere near the aeroplanes. They
would pepper the sky in every direction except near
the moving spot they were trying to hit. At rare in-
tervals both German and French machines were up,
and their manoeuvring for an advantage was always
interesting. The interest, however, in this sort of
thing changes after a few bombs have been dropped
and their terrific effect seen.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Such is the general story of the activity and life of
the Section's last months in Alsace. Its details would
include many stories of tight squeezes, of break-downs
and troubles in hot places, of the carrying of soldiers
driven mad under the strain of war, of having men die
in your car on the way to the hospital, of short side
trips right up amidst the French artillery stations,
and always of the patient, quiet suffering of the
French soldier. There would be stories of the days
when the car would have "moods," and refuse to
make the grades as it ought, and then again of times
when nothing was too much for the engine to do.

After the attack we were moved from Alsace farther
inland, and after some wandering from place to place
through a country that had been the scene of much
fighting in the earlier part of the war, and through
villages almost completely destroyed by the Germans,
we were sent to a town near Nancy — Tantonville —
to do ambulance work for the hospitals situated
within a twenty-five- kilometre radius and to wait
until our cars could be overhauled and repaired.1

Everett Jackson

1 This Section subsequently rendered heroic service in the great battle
of Verdun, and has since been sent to Salonica to serve with the French
army of the Orient. (November, 1916).

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

Though desolation stain their foiled advance,
In ashen ruins hearth-stones linger whole:

Do what they may they cannot master France,
Do what they can, they cannot quell the soul.

Barrett Wendell

AN INTRODUCTION BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT 1

I very cordially call attention to this account of the work of one
of the field sections of the American Ambulance in France, told
out of his own experience by a young man, a graduate of the Uni-
versity of Virginia, who has been driving an ambulance at the
front. The article came through Hon. A. Piatt Andrew, formerly
Assistant Secretary of the United States Treasury, and for two
years treasurer of the American Red Cross. Mr. Andrew has taken
an active part in the organization of the work. He writes that
many American college graduates are engaged in the field sec-
tions, and that they and others "have been working for months
with a devotion and courage which have commanded glowing
tributes of gratitude and admiration from many French officers."
In a second letter Mr. Andrew states that the faithful Mignot
(spoken of in this article) was killed when the Germans bom-
barded the headquarters of the field section.

Every young man just leaving college — from Harvard, from
Yale, from Princeton, from Michigan, Wisconsin, or California,
from Virginia or Sewanee, in short, from every college in the
country — ought to feel it incumbent on him at this time either
to try to render some assistance to those who are battling for the
right on behalf of Belgium, or else to try to fit himself to help his

1 The account of the American Ambulance in Lorraine by Mr. J. R.
McConnell was printed in the Outlook for September 15, 1915, and is
reprinted here by kind permission of the editors of that journal. The
introduction by Theodore Roosevelt and the drawing by M. Bils also
originally appeared in the Outlook and are republished here. (Editor's
Note.)

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

own country if in the future she is attacked as wantonly as Bel-
gium has been attacked. The United States has played a most
ignoble part for the last thirteen months. Our Government has
declined to keep its plighted faith, has declined to take action for
justice and right, as it was pledged to take action under the Hague
Conventions. At the same time, it has refused to protect its own
citizens; and it has refused even to prepare for its own defence. It
has treated empty rhetoric and adroit phrase-making as a sub-
stitute for deeds. In spite of our solemn covenant to see that the
neutrality of unoffending nations like Belgium was not violated;
our solemn covenant to see that undefended towns were not bom-
barded, as they have been again and again bombarded in France,
England, and Belgium, and hundreds of women and children
killed; our solemn covenant to see that inhuman and cruel meth-
ods of warfare — such as the use of poisonous gas — were not
used, we have, in a spirit of cold, selfish, and timid disregard of
our obligations for others, refused even to protest against such
wrongdoing, and, with abject indifference to right, the profes-
sional pacifists have spent their time merely in clamoring for a
peace that should consecrate successful wrong. What is even
more serious, we have wholly failed to act effectively when our
own men, women, and children were murdered on the high seas by
the order of the German Government. Moreover, we have de-
clined to take any effective steps when our men have been mur-
dered and our women raped in Mexico — and of all ineffective
steps the last proposal to get Bolivia and Guatemala to do what
we have not the manliness to do was the most ineffective.

But there have been a few individuals who, acting as individuals
or in organizations, have to a limited extent by their private ef-
forts made partially good our governmental shortcomings. The
body of men and women for whom Mr. Andrew speaks is one of
these organizations. I earnestly hope that his appeal will be
heeded and that everything possible will be done to continue to
make the work effective.

Theodore Roosevelt

A small field ambulance with a large red cross on
each of its gray canvas sides slips quickly down the
curving cobblestone street of a quaint old French
frontier town, and turns on to the road leading to

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

the postes de secours (dressing-stations) behind the
trenches, which are about two kilometres distant.
The driver is uniformed in khaki, and is in striking
contrast to the hundreds of blue-gray-clad soldiers
loitering on the streets. A group of little children cry
out, " Americain" and, with beaming smiles, one of
them executes a rigid though not very correct salute
as the car goes by. A soldier yells, "Good-morning,
sir!" another, "Hello, Charley!" and waves his hand,
while others not gifted with such an extensive
command of English content themselves with "Bon-
jour! " and "Camarade!9' The little car spins on past
companies of tired, dusty soldiers returning from the
trenches, and toots to one side the fresher-looking sec-
tions that are going up for their turn. A sentinel
stands out in the middle of the road and makes fran-
tic motions with his hand to indicate that shrapnel
is bursting over the road ahead. "I should worry,"
comes from the driver, and the car speeds serenely
along the way.

It is an ambulance of the Section Sanitaire Ameri-
caine, Y, the squad that has just been cite a Vordre
de Varmee (honorably mentioned in despatches).

The drivers of these cars are all American volun-
teers : young men who, for the most part, come from
prominent families in the States. All parts of the
Union seem to be represented. The Sections are com-
posed of from fifteen to twenty-five cars each, and are
under the direction of a Section commander. While
the cars are allotted to the Sections by the American

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Ambulance Hospital, directed by its officers, and in
part supported by the organization, they nevertheless
become an integral part of the Sanitary Service of the
French army, to which they are assigned as soon as
they enter the war zone. The cars and conducteurs, as
the drivers are called, are militarized, and all general
orders come from the French medical officers, The
French Government supplies the gasoline, oil, and
tires, and the personnel of the Sections are housed and
fed by the army. They are given the same good food
and generous ration that the French soldier receives.
Attached to each Section is a French non-commis-
sioned officer who attends to various details and acts
as interpreter. Section Y is favored by the addition
of an army chef, and the Section commander's orderly
has been put in the general service of all the members.

It is forbidden to give the location of any of the
active units of the French army, and as this restric-
tion holds good for Section Y, which is at the very
front, I cannot give any details that would indicate
the point in the line where the Section is stationed.
I believe it is allowable to say that the town is very
old and possesses a rare beauty. I have never seen a
place that could boast of such a number of exquisite
gardens or such a lovely encircling boulevard. The
surrounding hilly country is charming and pregnant
with the most romantic historical associations. Its
reputation as a history-making region is certainly not
suffering at the present.

The Americans are quartered in a large building

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

that had not been occupied since the mobilization in
August, 1914. There are countless rooms already fur-
nished, and those on the first floor have been cleaned
up so that now the Section, which consists of twenty-
four men, has "all the comforts of home." There is a
large mess-hall, kitchen, writing-room, library, gen-
eral office, dormitory, and a good, generous vaulted
cellar of easy access. This last adjunct is important,
for the town is one of the most frequently bombarded
places in the line, and very often big shells that wreck
a house at one shot make it advisable to take to the
cave. The atelier of the armurier (armorer's work-
shop), with its collection of tools and fixtures, now
serves as a perfect automobile repair shop. There is
also running water, and at first we had both gas and
electric lights; but shells have eventually put both
systems out of commission. Naturally the telephone
line gets clipped every few days, but that is essential,
and so it is quickly repaired. Behind the headquarters
is a gem of a garden containing several species of roses,
and, as fortune would have it, new wicker chairs. At
first it all seemed too good to be true. It did not seem
possible that such an amazing combination of com-
forts could exist in the war zone, and still less so when
one looked down the street and saw the German
trenches in full view on the crest of a hill fourteen
hundred yards distant, where at night rifle flashes
are seen. To Section Y, that had hibernated and
drudged along at Beauvais some thirty-five kilo-
metres behind the line until April, it was a realization

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

of hopes beyond belief. Of course, as far as the com-
forts are concerned, all may change. Any minute
orders may arrive that will shift us, and then it may
mean sleeping on straw, occupying barns or any avail-
able shelter; but while the present conditions obtain
we beg to differ with Sherman!

A French Motor Ambulance Section had been
handling the wounded of the division to which our
squad was attached, and we at first supplemented
their work. To start with, French orderlies went out
with the American drivers on calls to show them the
working of the system, but after two or three days
the Americans fell into the work as if it had been a
life's practice, and, in spite of a lack of conversational
ability, managed to evacuate the wounded without a
hitch. The Americans did their work so well that
they obtained the entire confidence of the authori-
ties, and in a few weeks the French Section was
transferred to another post. It speaks very well for
Section Y that all of the work of one of the most
important points in the line was entrusted to it alone.

In addition to the actual carrying of wounded,
there is a remarkable amount of detail office work; for
every report, request, or order has to be made in trip-
licate, and it keeps the commander of the Section, his
assistant, and the marechaux des logis, supplemented
by a corporal and telephonist, very busy running the
business and executive end. Then, in addition to the
proper despatching of the regular and special services,
there are hundreds of delicate situations to handle:

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

requests of the authorities, the satisfying of numerous
officers, and the reception of the various dignitaries
who come to visit the much-heralded American Sec-
tion. It is only on account of the exceptional ability
and capacity of our diplomatic commander, "Ned"
Salisbury, of Chicago, that the Section has been en-
trusted with such vital responsibilities and that it has
been able to perform them with such success.

All the men in the Section had been billeted at
houses in a town eight kilometres below, where they
slept when not on night duty; but when the French
Section was ordered away, a number of the men
elected to move up to the advance point, and were
given excellent quarters in the various vacated resi-
dences of the town. Why, instead of just rooms they
had suites, and the commander has an apartment in
the show place of the town ! It is surrounded by ex-
tensive walled grounds which have been made into a
ravishing garden of flowering shrubs and trees; little
lily-covered, iris-bordered lakes, masses of roses, beds
of poppies, and in one sylvan nook is a flower-covered
fountain fashioned of great rough stones whose tink-
ling waters tumble in glittering cascades between riots
of vivid-colored plants and dense walls of variegated
verdure. To see our commander sitting in his Louis
XV furnished rooms, which, by the way, have an
excellent trench exposure, reminds me strongly of
those paintings which depict generals of 1871 disport-
ing themselves in the splendor of a commandeered
chateau.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

From all the foregoing it must not be imagined
that Section Y has a sinecure, or that strolling
around gardens is a habit. Far from it. The regular
daily service is arduous enough in itself, for one is
either on duty or on call all of the time; but there
are times following an attack when the men rest
neither night nor day, when one gets food only in
snatches, and frequently days at a time will pass
when one is on such continuous service that there is
never a chance to undress. Then there is the other
aspect, the ever-present danger of being killed or
wounded that one is under at the front, for Section
Y works and lives in a heavily shelled area. But
we will not talk of that, for it is unwise to think of
such a thing when facing it. There are times, how-
ever, when one is forcibly reminded, and when it
takes a great amount of will power to remain calm
and perform one's duty.

The mention of shell fire to one who has never
experienced it brings to mind, in a vague sort of way,
an association with danger, but that is all. To us
who have seen its effects — the hideously mangled
killed and wounded, the agonized expressions and
streams of fast-flowing blood, the crumbling of solid
houses into clouds of smoke and dust; to us who hear
the terrible tearing, snarling, deep roar of great shells
as they hurtle down the air-lanes towards us to de-
tonate with a murderous, ear-splitting crash, flinging
their jagged Sclats for a half-mile in all directions,
and sometimes killing French comrades near us; to

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

us who live and work within shell range, not knowing
when we too may be annihilated or maimed for life,
it seems a very real and terrible menace, and for that
reason to be banished from our thoughts.

In spite of the danger, the Americans render their
service with fidelity at any and all times. A French
captain once remarked that, no matter how much the
town was being shelled, the little field ambulances
could be seen slipping down the streets, past corners,
or across the square on their way to and from postes
de secours back of the trenches. I remember one day
that was especially a test of the men. The town was
being shelled, and it happened that at the same time
there were many calls for cars. The Germans were
paying particular attention to the immediate sur-
roundings of the headquarters, and the shells were
not falling by any time-table known to us. A call
came in, and the "next man "was handed his orders.
He waited until a shell burst and then made a run for
it. Several cars had been out on calls and were due
to return. There was no way of giving them a warn-
ing. We heard the purr of a motor, and almost im-
mediately the sing of a shell very close to us. There
was an instant of anxiety, an explosion, and then we
were relieved to see the car draw up in line, the driver
switch off his motor and run for our entrance. He
held his order card in front of him as he ran. Just
as he entered another shell hit near by. It reminded
me strongly of a scene in a " ten-twenty-thirty " mar-
tial play. All the hero needed was some fuller's earth

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

to pat off his shoulders when he came inside. There
were several entrances of this sort during the after-
noon, and one shell, landing just' in front of us and
nearly on top of a passing motor lorry, resulted in
the addition of the French driver and his aid to our
little wall-protected group. It was a day when the
shelling seemed to be general, for shrapnel and small
77 shells were also bursting at intervals over and in
a little town one passes through in order to avoid
a more heavily bombarded outer route on the way
to the postes de secours. It was magnificent descend-
ing the hill from the postes that afternoon. To the
left French 75 shells were in rapid action; and one
could see the explosion of the German shells just
over the crest of the long ridge where the batteries
were firing. It was a clear, sparkling day, and against
the vivid green of the hills, across the winding river,
the little white puffs of shrapnel exploding over the
road below were in perfect relief, while from the red-
tiled roofs of the town, nestling in the valley below,
tall columns of black smoke spurted up where the
large shells struck. Little groups of soldiers, the
color of whose uniforms added greatly to the picture,
were crowded against the low stone walls lining the
road to observe the firing; and one sensed the action
and felt the real excitement of the sort of war one
imagines instead of the uninteresting horror of the
cave-dweller combats that are the rule in this war.
It is difficult to take any one day's work and
describe it in the attempt to give an adequate pic-

SHELLS BREAKING ON THE COTE DE MOUSSON

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WATCHING AN AEROPLANE DUEL IN PONT-A-MOUSSON

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

ture of the routine of the American Section, for with
us all days are so different. The background or
framework, the schedule of runs, the points of calling,
the ordinary duties, are more or less the same; but
the action and experiences, which add the color, are
never alike. There are days at a stretch when the
work might be called monotonous, were it not for
the fact that there is a continual source of pleasure
in feeling that one is being of service to France, and
that one's time is being spent in relieving the suffer-
ing of her brave wounded soldiers.

Six-thirty is the time for bread and coffee, and the
long table in the flag-deeorated mess-room begins
to fill. Mignot, our comrade orderly, is rushing to
and fro placing bowls in front of those arriving, and
practising on each the few English expressions he
has picked up by association with us. Two men of
the Section enter who look very tired. They throw
their caps or fatigue hats on to a side table and call
for Mignot. They have been on all-night service at

M , the hamlet where the most active postes de

secours are located.

"Much doing last night ?" asks one of the crowd
at the table.

"Not much. Had only sixteen altogether."

' ' Anything stirring ? ' '

"Yes; Fritz eased in a few shrapnel about five-
thirty, but did n't hurt any one. You know the last
house down on the right-hand side? Well, they
smeared that with a shell during the night."

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

"By the way," continues the man in from night
service, addressing himself to one across the table,
" Canot, the artilleryman, was looking for you. Says
he 's got a ring for you made out of a Boche fuse-cap,
and wants to know if you want a Geneva or Lorraine
cross engraved on it."

The men in the Section leave the room one by one
to take up their various duties. There are some
whose duty it is to stay in reserve, and these go out
to work on their cars. Others are on bureau service,
and they remain within call of the telephone. Two

leave for D , a town eight kilometres below,

where their job is to evacuate from the two hospitals
where the wounded have been carried down the day
and night before. This town, too, suffers an occa-
sional bombardment, and wounded are left there
no longer than necessary. They are taken to a sani-
tary train which runs to a little village a few kilo-
metres below, which is just beyond the limit of shell
fire.

Sometimes our cars are called upon to evacuate

to X , which is a good many kilometres distant.

The splendid road runs through a most charming
part of the country. Just now everything is in bloom,
and the gentle undulating sweep of highly cultivated
fields is delineated by plots of yellow mustard plants,
mellow brown tilled earth, and -countless shades of
refreshing green, while near the tree-bordered road
one can see stretches of waving wheat dotted with
the flaming red of poppies and the delicate blue of

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

little field flowers. On those trips it does not seem
possible that war is near; but on high, sharply out-
lined against the deep-blue sky, is a sausage-shape
observation balloon, and looking back through a
little window in the car one sees the bandaged and
prostrate figures of the wounded occupants.

There are only two cars on service at M during

the usual run of days, for unless there is an attack
comparatively few wounded are brought down from
the trenches to their respective regimental postes de
secours in the village.

Down the single, long street of this town, which
had been changed from a quiet country hamlet to
a military cantonment, strolls a motley collection of
seasoned soldiers. The majority are uniformed in
the newly adopted light bluish-gray; some few still
carry the familiar baggy red trousers, black anklets,
and long, dark-blue coat with conspicuous brass
buttons. The sapeurs and artillerymen wear dull
green-and-yellow splotched dusters that make them
almost invisible in the woods and impart the most
striking war-working appearance to them. There is
the cavalryman in his light-blue tunic with pinkish
trimmings, and his campaign cloth-covered helmet,
from the crest of which flows a horse-tail plume.
Here and there are the smartly dressed officers with
their variously colored uniforms designating their
branch; but their gold galloons of rank do not show
conspicuously on their sleeves now, and the braid on
their caps is covered. Some wear the splotched duster

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

which hides their identity entirely, and others are
dressed in serviceable thin brown uniforms which
bear hardly any insignia. In front of four or five of
the low masonry houses a Red Cross flag is hung.
These mark the postes de secours where the wounded
are bandaged and given to the ambulances. An
American car is backed up in front of one, and the
khaki-clad driver is the centre of interest for a group
of soldiers. Some he knows well, and he is carrying
on a cheerful conversation. It is surprising what a
number of French soldiers speak English; and there
are hundreds who have lived in England and in the
States. Some are even American citizens, who have
returned to fight for la belle France, their mother
country. I have met waiters from the Cafe Lafayette,
chefs from Fifth Avenue hotels, men who worked in
New York and Chicago banks, in commission houses,
who own farms in the West, and some who had taken
up their residence in American cities to live on their
incomes. It seems very funny to be greeted with a
"Hello there, old scout!" by French soldiers.

"Well, when did you come over?" asks the driver.

In August. Been through the whole thing."

Where were you in the States?"

New York, and I am going back when it is over.
Got to beat it now. So long. See you later."

A few companies of soldiers go leisurely past on
their way up to the trenches, and nearly every man
has something to say to the American driver. Five
out of ten will point to the ambulance and cry out

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IN FRONT OF A "POSTE DE SECOURS "

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE DRIVER

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

with questionable but certainly cheerful enough hu-
mor, "Save a place for me to-morrow I" or, "Be sure
and give me a quick ride!" Others yell out greet-
ings, or air their knowledge of English. "Hello,
Charley!" heads the list in that department, and
"Engleesh spoken" runs a close second. Some of the
newly arrived soldiers take us for English, and " Cam-
arade anglais" is in vogue; but with old acquaint-
ances "Camarade amiricain" cried in a very sin-
cere tone and followed by a grip of the hand, has a
very warm friendship about it. Yes, you make good
friends that way. Working along together in this
war brings men very close. You find some delightful
chaps, and then . . . well, sometimes you realize you
have not seen a certain one for a week or so, and you
inquire after him from a man in his company.

"Where is Bosker, or Busker ? — I don't know how
you pronounce it. You know, tall fellow with cor-
poral's galloons who was always talking about what
a good time he was going to have when he got back
to Paris."

"He got killed in the attack two nights ago," re-
plies the man you have asked.

And you wonder how it happened exactly, and
what he looks like dead.

Some days it is very quiet up there at the posies
de secours — even the artillery to the rear is not firing
overhead; and at other times it is rather lively. Sol-
diers will be sauntering up and down the long street,
collecting in groups, or puttering around at some

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

task, when suddenly there is a short, sharp, whis-
tling sound overhead and a loud detonation as the
well-timed shrapnel explodes. The aggregation does
a turning movement that for unison of motion could
not be excelled, and packs against the houses on
the lee side of the street. There are some who do not
bother about such a comparatively small thing as
shrapnel, and keep to their course or occupation. I
have seen men continue to sweep the street, or keep
going to where they were heading, in spite of the fact
that shrapnel whistled in at frequent intervals. I
have also seen some of these immovable individuals
crumple up and be still.

One evening the firing was so heavy that every
one had sought the protection of the walls, when
down the street came a most gloriously happy sol-
dier. He was taking on up the street carrying a
bottle, and at every explosion he waved his free arm
and a wild yell of delight issued from his beaming
face. It appeared to entertain him hugely, as if a
special fireworks exhibition had been arranged on
his behalf. It always seems to be that way. A sober
man would have been killed on the spot.

With shells it is a very different story than with
shrapnel. One can avoid the latter by backing up
against a house, but the shells are apt to push it
over on you. When the deeper, heavier whistle of a
shell is heard, it sounds a good deal like tearing a big
sheet of cloth. Men do not brave it. They know its
hideous effects, and take to the nearest cellar or door-

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

way. The first one or two that come in, if well placed,
often claim victims. A group of soldiers will be talk-
ing or playing cards in front of a house. There is a
swish; the shell hits the hard road in front of them,
and the jagged eclats rip into the little crowd, some-
times killing three or four of them. The soldiers who
find themselves at a greater distance have time to
throw themselves flat on the ground, and it is seldom
that the singing fragments do not pass well over-
head.

It is quite remarkable that none of the Americans

have as yet been hurt at X , for the evacuation

of the wounded goes on regardless of the shelling.
Often the escapes have been very close. Just yes-
terday ten big shells came in, killed six men and
wounded forty others, and yet our two cars on duty
there escaped without being hit. One day, following
an attack, the firing was rather frequent. Nearly all
of the ambulances were lined up in the village wait-
ing for the wounded to be brought down. Our com-
mander was talking to one of his drivers when a shell
exploded on the other side of a wall behind him. He
walked down the street to give instructions to an-
other man. A shell hit the roof of a house there and
covered the two with debris. He started to return,
and as he passed a certain house a shell went right
into it. They seemed to be following him. It fre-
quently happens that an ambulance will be running
down the street and a shell hit a house just behind
or in front of its course. Now and then one's breath

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

will stop when a car is enveloped in the clouds of
dust and debris coming from a shell-hit house, and
start again when from the haze the driver emerges
dirty but smiling. Of course, the cars have been hit.
A shell tore off the front top of one ten inches from
the driver's head, but as yet no member of the Ameri-
can Section has been hurt.

A kilometre up the climbing, winding road is a
lone poste de secours in the woods just off the high-
way. The approach and the place itself are often
shelled. There have been times when the drivers
were under a seriously heavy fire on night duty;
times when trees have been shattered and fallen
across the road and huge craters made in the soft
earth of the adjacent fields. A kilometre beyond is
still another point of call, and from there one can
look directly into one of the most fought-over sec-
tions of ground in the long line from the sea to Bel-
fort. It is a bit of land that before the war was cov-
ered with a magnificent forest. Now it is a wilderness
whose desolation is beyond description. It is a sec-
tion of murdered nature. The black, shattered things
sticking up out of a sea of mounds were at one time
great trees. There are no branches on the split trunks
now. No green can be seen anywhere. Where the
trenches ran there are but series of indentations,
jumbles of splintered trench timbers, broken guns,
rusty fragments of shells, strips of uniforms and caps,
shoes with a putrid, maggot-eaten mass inside. It
does not seem possible that life could ever have been

ON THE ROAD TO BOIS-LE-PRETRE

FONTAINE DU PERE HILARION, A SPRING IN BOIS-LE-PRETRE WHERE

FRENCH AND GERMAN SOLDIERS FRATERNIZED IN

THE EARLY DAYS OF THE WAR

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

there. It looks as if it had always been dead. What
testimony to human habitation remains is but mute
and buried wreckage.

This last poste de secours is in the very line of fire,
but then there are bomb-proofs near by and one can
find shelter. One must be careful running up to this
poste, for new and very deep holes are continually
being blown in the road and there is danger of wreck-
ing the cars.

Section Y has performed its duties so well that
the work of an adjacent division has been given to
it, and in a few days now the little cars will roll past
the last-mentioned poste de secours over to the ex-
posed plain beyond and into the zone of its newly
acquired activities.

The American cars literally infest the roads in the
day. They buzz along on calls to the posies, return
from evacuations, and keep so busy trying to accel-
erate the work that a casual observer might imagine
that a whole division had been annihilated overnight.
A car with three stretcher-cases in the back, a slightly
wounded soldier sitting on the seat next to the driver,
and a load of knapsacks piled between the hood and
the fenders, starts down from the poste de secours,
spins on through a village full of resting troops, and
turns on to the highway leading to the evacuation
hospitals at the town eight kilometres below. At
first the holes in the walls and houses along the way,
and the craters in the fields where the marmites had
struck, made one continually conscious of the possi-

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

bility of a shell. Now one does not think about it,
save to note the new holes, observe that the older
ones have been cemented up, and to hope that an Sclat
won't hit you at those exceedingly rare times when
a shell bursts ahead or behind. The closest call so far
on that stretch of road was when a 210 hit eleven
feet to the side of one of our cars, but failed to ex-
plode. Of course there is a chance that even at that
distance the Sclat might take a peculiar course and
miss one; but the chances are that if that shell had
gone off one of our men would have been minus sev-
eral necessary portions of his anatomy.

The work at night is quite eerie, and on moonless
nights quite difficult. No lights are allowed, and the
inky black way ahead seems packed with a discord-
ant jumble of sounds as the never-ending artillery
and ravitaillement trains rattle along. One creeps
past convoy after convoy, past sentinels who cry,
"Halte la!" and then whisper an apologetic "Passez"
when they make out the ambulance; and it is only
in the dazzling light of the illuminating rockets that
shoot into the air and sink slowly over the trenches
that one can see to proceed with any speed.

It is at night, too, that our hardest work comes,
for that is usually the time when attacks and counter-
attacks are made and great numbers of men are
wounded. Sometimes all twenty of the Section cars
will be in service. It is then that one sees the most
frightfully wounded: the men with legs and arms
shot away, mangled faces, and hideous body wounds.

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

It is a time when men die in the ambulances before
they reach the hospitals, and I believe nearly every
driver in the Section has had at least one distressing
experience of that sort.

Early one morning there was an urgent call for a
single wounded. The man's comrades gathered
around the little car to bid their friend good-bye. He
was terribly wounded and going fast. "See," said one
of them to the man on the stretcher, "you are going
in an American car. You will have a good trip, old
fellow, and get well soon. Good-bye and good luck!"
They forced a certain cheerfulness, but their voices
were low and dry, for they saw death creeping into the
face of their comrade. The driver took his seat and
was starting when he was asked to wait. "Something
for him/' they said. When the car arrived at the hos-
pital, the man was dead. He was cold and must have
died at the start of the trip. The driver regretted the
delay in leaving. Why had they asked him to wait?
Then he saw that the ambulance was covered with
sprigs of lilac and little yellow field flowers. The men
knew the car would serve as a hearse.

Once an American ambulance was really pressed
into service as a hearse in a very touching funeral. A
young lieutenant, the son of a prominent and influ-
ential official, had been killed in a gallant action. The
family had been granted permission to enter the lines
and attend the funeral. The young officer, who but a
few days before his death had won his commission,
was held in the deepest affection by his company, and

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

they arranged that, as something very special, he
should have a hearse. A car from Section "Y" was
offered, and went to the church in the hamlet back of
the trenches. The soldiers literally covered the am-
bulance with flowers and branches, and then stood
waiting with the great wreaths they had brought in
their hands. The little group emerged from the partly
wrecked church, and the flag-covered coffin was slid
into the car. The cortbge, headed by a white-robed
priest and two censer boys, wound slowly down the
tortuous path that the troops follow on their way to
the trenches.

The mother was supported by the father, a vener-
able soldier of 1870, who limped haltingly on his
wooden leg. Back of the two came the lieutenant's
sister, a beautiful girl just entering her twenties. The
captain of the company was at her side, then followed
other officers, and the silent, trench-worn soldiers be-
hind. The funeral halted on the hillside near a grave
dug beneath the branches of a budding apple tree.
The coffin was pulled from the ambulance and low-
ered into the grave. And the mother knelt at the
side, sobbing. The old father, who struggled to sup-
press his emotion, began a little oration. His voice
trembled, and when at intervals he tried to say, " Vive
la France! " it broke and great tears ran down his face.
The soldiers, too, were crying, and the American's
eyes were damp. Behind, a battery of 75's was firing
— for on no account must the grim details of the war
be halted — and at every deafening shot and swish of

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

the shell tearing overhead the girl shivered, huddled
close to the captain, and looked in a frightened way
at the soldiers around her. In her small, thin shoes
and black wavy dress she seemed strangely out of
place in those military surroundings.

The Americans have a faculty of adapting them-
selves to any service they may be called upon to per-
form, and many times they undertake on their own
initiative various missions that are not in exact ac-
cord with their military duties. They very often trans-
port dead civilians after a bombardment. Though
nearly every one takes to the caves when a bombard-
ment starts, the first shells that come in frequently
kill a number of people who have not had time to get
to shelter. In the past few weeks nearly all the civil-
ians have left the dangerous town, and it is seldom
now that soldiers and the residents — men, women,
and children — are found mixed up in pitiful dead
groups.

During one bombardment, some time ago, however,
a considerable number of women and children were
killed. A couple of the American ambulances were on
the spot immediately after, and the men were silently
going about their sad work. The little children who
cry out to us as we pass were gathered around hold-
ing to their mothers' trembling hands. They said,
" Americainr when they saw the khaki uniforms,
but their tone was hushed and sad instead of loud and
joyous, and had a surprised note, as if they had not
expected to see the Americans at such a task.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

In one place a large crowd of people had gathered
around an ambulance in front of a baker's shop. In
the upper part of the building was a great irregular
hole that included a portion of the roof, and inside the
freshly exposed stone rims the interior of a room with
shattered furniture could be seen. Below the huge
rent on the gray face of the building was the fan-
shaped design made by the shell's Sclats. On the side-
walk were the bodies of two women and a soldier. A
vivid red pool had formed around them and was flow-
ing into the gutter. For some reason the gray dust
covering the motionless black dresses of the women
seemed to make the picture very much more terrible.
The face of one of the women had been torn away,
but her hair and one eye, which had a look of wild
fear glazed in it, remained. As the stretcher the wo-
man had been placed on was carried to the car a yel-
low comb fell out of her bloody hair and dropped on
the white-shod foot of a young girl standing near.
The child pulled up her skirts with a disgusted look
and kicked the comb off into the street.

It took the Americans a long time to learn the value
of prudence. At first during the bombardments they
would rush to the street as soon as a shell landed and
look to see what damage had been done. Then, when
some Sclats had sizzed uncomfortably close to their
persons, they became a little more discreet and waited
a while before venturing out. Ten days ago, during a
bombardment with the large 210 shells, a few of the
Americans were gathered at the entrance to the court-

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

yard of our headquarters to observe the shells hitting
in town. It was all very well until quite unexpectedly
one hit the eaves of the building at a point about
thirty yards from the group and carried away with
its explosion about twenty feet of that part of the
structure. Fortunately, the eclat took a high course,
but great building stones crashed down and blocked
the roadway. The Americans were unharmed save for
a thick coating of mortar dust, but that experience has
discounted the popularity of orchestra seats during
an exhibition in which shells larger than 77's appear.

One of the men was twenty-five yards from a 210
high-explosive projectile when it carved a great crater
in the ground and killed two French Red Cross men
near him, and he, for one, has no overpowering desire,
after that murderous, crushing, breath-taking explo-
sion, for any intimate personal research work into the
effects of other large-calibre shells.

Even now the members of Section Y have much
to learn. They still persist in remaining in their
chairs in the exposed garden when aeroplanes are be-
ing fired at directly overhead, when balls of shrapnel
have repeatedly dropped into the flower-beds, and
when one man was narrowly missed by a long, razor-
edged fragment of a shrapnel shell. And this has not
even the excuse of a desire to observe — for the
novelty of these performances has long since passed
— and one hardly ever glances upward. They won't
even move for a German Taube, though it might at
any minute drop a bomb or two. As a matter of fact,

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

however, explosives dropped from German machines
are comparatively harmless.

When a certain great stone structure on the water's
edge is being shelled, the men off duty adjourn to the
shore for the entertainment. They know the various
schedules the shells run on, and time their arrival.
The German guns firing them are so far off that the
report cannot be heard. There is a deep, bass, tearing
roar, closely followed by another, for they come in
pairs; then two huge columns of water hurtle into the
air for a hundred feet, accompanied by two heavy
detonations. The bleacher-occupying Americans —
they have installed a bench to sit on — then jump up
and scurry for a wall that affords protection against
the eclats that sing back from the shells. In a second
there is a rush for the hot chunks of metal, while the
natives emerge from their shelters to collect the fish
that have been killed by the terrific concussion — and
fish a la bombardement is served to us the next day !

For some reason or other the German prisoners —
and the Lord knows there are enough of them these
days — still remain a subject of humorous interest to
the Americans, while the Bodies, as the Germans are
called, stare at us in wild-eyed amazement, flavored
with considerable venom, thinking us British and
wondering how we got so far down the line.

No matter how long the war lasts, I do not believe
that the members of Section Y will lose any of
their native ways, attitudes, or tastes. They will re-
main just as American as ever. Why, they still fight

THE SECTION IN LORRAINE

for a can of American tobacco or a box of cigarettes
that comes from the States, when such a rare and ap-
preciated article does turn up, and papers and maga-
zines from home are sure to go the rounds, finding
themselves at length in the hands of English-reading
soldiers in the trenches. I never could understand the
intense grip that the game of baseball seems to pos-
sess, but it holds to some members of the Section with
a cruel pertinacity. One very dark night, a few days
ago, two of us were waiting at an advanced poste de
secours. The rifle and artillery fire was constant, illu-
minating rockets shot into the air, and now and then
one could distinguish the heavy dull roar of a mine
or torpille detonating in the trenches. War in all its
engrossing detail was very close. Suddenly my friend
turned to me and, with a sigh, remarked, " Gee ! I wish
I knew how the Red Sox were making out!"

Well, there may be more interesting things in the
future to write of the Americans serving at the front,
and, again, their work may become dull. But it
makes no difference to the Section. The men will do
what is asked and gladly, for there is no work more
worth while than helping in some way, no matter
what, this noblest of all causes. One does not look for
thanks — there is a reward enough in the satisfac-
tion the work gives; but the French do not let it stop
at that. The men from the trenches are surprised
that we have voluntarily undertaken such a hazard-
ous occupation, and express their appreciation and
gratitude with almost embarrassing frequency. "You

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

render a great service," say the officers, and those of
highest rank call to render thanks in the name of
France. It is good to feel that one's endeavors are
appreciated, and encouraging to hear the words of
praise; but when, at the end of an evacuation, one
draws a stretcher from the car, and the poor wounded
man lying upon it, who has never allowed a groan to
escape during a ride that must have been painful,
with an effort holds out his hand, grasps yours, and,
forcing a smile, murmurs, "Merci" — that is what
urges you to hurry back for other wounded, to be glad
that there is a risk to one's self in helping them, and to
feel grateful that you have the opportunity to serve
the brave French people in their sublime struggle. 1

James H. McConnell

1 This Section, after ten months' service at Pont-a-Mousson, has worked
for eight months in the Verdun Sector during the great battle. (Novem-
ber, 1916.)

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE IN THE VERDUN ATTACK1

"Our artillery and automobiles have saved Ver-
dun," French officers and soldiers were continually
telling me. And as I look back on two months of
ambulance-driving in the attack, it seems to me that
automobiles played a larger part than even the
famous "seventy-fives," for without motor transport
there would have been no ammunition and no food.
One shell, accurately placed, will put a railway com-
munication out of the running, but automobiles must
be picked off one by one as they come within range.
The picture of the attack that will stay with me
always is that of the Grande Route north from Bar-le-
Duc, covered with the snow and ice of the last days
of February. The road was always filled with two
columns of trucks, one going north and the other
coming south. The trucks, loaded with troops, shells,
and bread, rolled and bobbled back and forth with
the graceless, uncertain strength of baby elephants.
It was almost impossible to steer them on the icy
roads. Many of them fell by the wayside, overturned,
burned up, or were left apparently unnoticed in the
ceaseless tide of traffic that never seemed to hurry or
to stop.

1 This article was printed in the July issue of the Cornhill Magazine,
and is reproduced by permission of the author and the publishers of the
Cornhill.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

All night and all day it continued. Soon the roads
began to wear out. Trucks brought stones from the
ruins of the battle of the Marne and sprinkled them
in the ruts and holes; soldiers, dodging in and out of
the moving cars, broke and packed the stones or
sprinkled sand on the ice-covered hillsides. But the
traffic was never stopped for any of these things. The
continuous supply had its effect on the demand.
There were more troops than were needed for the
trenches, so they camped along the road or in the
fields. Lines of camions ran off the road and unloaded
the reserve of bread; the same thing was done with
the meat, which kept well enough in the snow; and
the shells, which a simple camouflage of white tar-
paulins effectually hid from the enemy airmen.

At night, on the main road, I have watched for
hours the dimmed lights of the camions, winding away
north and south like the coils of some giant and lum-
inous snake which never stopped and never ended. It
was impressive evidence of a great organization that
depended and was founded on the initiative of its
members. Behind each light was a unit, the driver,
whose momentary negligence might throw the whole
line into confusion. Yet there were no fixed rules to
save him from using his brain quickly and surely as
each crisis presented itself. He must be continually
awake to avoid any one of a thousand possible mis-
chances. The holes and ice on the road, his skidding
car, the cars passing in the same and opposite direc-
tions, the cars in front and behind, the cars broken

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

down on the sides of the road — all these and many
other things he had to consider before using brake or
throttle in making his way along. Often snow and
sleet storms were added to make driving more diffi-
cult. Objects six feet away were completely invisible,
and it was only by watching the trees along the side of
the road that one could attempt to steer.

I was connected with the Service des Autos as a
driver in Section N° 2 of the Field Service of the
American Ambulance of Neuilly. We had the usual
French Section of twenty ambulances and one staff
car, but, unlike the other Sections, we had only one
man to a car. There were two officers, one the Chief
of Section, Walter Lovell, a graduate of Harvard
University and formerly a member of the Boston
Stock Exchange; and George Roeder, Mechanical
Officer, in charge of the supply of parts and the repair
of cars. Before the war, he was a promising bacteri-
ologist in the Rockefeller Institute. Our Section was
one of five which compose the Field Service of the
American Ambulance, and are located at various
points along the front from Dunkirk to the Vosges.
The general direction of the Field Service is in the
hands of A. Piatt Andrew, formerly professor at
Harvard and Assistant Secretary of the United States
Treasury. He has organized the system by which
volunteers and funds are obtained in America, and is
the responsible link between the work of the Service
and the will of the French authorities.

In each of the five Sections there are twenty driv-

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

ers, all Americans and volunteers. Most of them are
college men who have come over from the United
States to " do their bit " for France and see the war at
the same time. Certainly our Section was gathered
from the four corners of the "States." One, a gradu-
ate of the University of Pennsylvania, had worked
for two years on the Panama Canal as an engineer;
another, an Alaskan, had brought two hundred dogs
over for the French Government, to be used for trans-
portation in the Vosges; a third was a well-known
American novelist who had left his home at Florence
to be a chauffeur for France. There were also two
architects, a New York undertaker, several soi-disant
students, and a man who owned a Mexican ranch
that was not sufficiently flourishing to keep him at
home.

The term of service required by the French authori-
ties is now six months, though, of course, some of the
men have been in the Section since the battle of the
Marne. We all get five sous a day and rations as pri-
vates in the French army, which was represented in
our midst by a lieutenant, a marechal de logis, a
mechanic, and a cook.

On February 22 our French lieutenant gave us our
"order to move," but all he could tell us about our
destination was that we were going north. We started
from Bar-le-Duc about noon, and it took us six hours
to make forty miles through roads covered with snow,
swarming with troops, and all but blocked by convoys
of food carts and sections of trucks. Of course, we

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

knew that there was an attack in the neighborhood
of Verdun, but we did not know who was making it or
how it was going. Then about four o'clock in the
short winter twilight we passed two or three regiments
of French colonial troops on the march with all their
field equipment. I knew who and what they were by
the curious Eastern smell that I had always before
associated with camels and circuses. They were lined
up on each side of the road around their soup kitch-
ens, which were smoking busily, and I had a good
look at them as we drove along.

It was the first time I had seen an African army in
the field, and though they had had a long march,
they were cheerful and in high spirits at the prospect
of battle. They were all young, active men, and of all
colors and complexions, from blue-eyed blonds to
shiny blacks. They all wore khaki and brown shrap-
nel casques bearing the trumpet insignia of the French
sharpshooter. We were greeted with laughter and
chaff, for the most part, in an unknown chatter, but
now and again some one would say, 'Hee, hee,
Ambulance Americaine," or 'Yes, Ingliish, good-
bye."

I was fortunate enough to pick up one of their non-
commissioned officers with a bad foot who was going
our way. He was born in Africa, which accounted for
his serving in the colonials, though his mother was
American and his father French. From him I learned
that the Germans were attacking at Verdun, and that,
to every one's surprise, they were trying to drive the

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

point of the salient south instead of cutting it off from
east to west. As we were passing along, one of his
men shouted something to him about riding in an
ambulance, and I remarked that they all seemed in a
very good humor. 'Oh yes," he answered; "we're
glad to be on the move, as we've been en repos since
autumn in a small quiet place south of Paris." " But
it means trouble," he added proudly, " their sending
us up, for we are never used except in attacks, and
were being saved for the summer. Six hundred have
been killed in my company since the beginning, so I
have seen something of this war. Now my regiment
is mixed up with two others, and altogether we make
about four thousand men."

As we talked, I realized that his was a different
philosophy from that of the ordinary poilu that I had
been carrying. Certainly he loved France and was at
war for her; but soldiering was his business and fight-
ing was his life. Nothing else counted. He had long
since given up any thought of coming out alive, so
the ordinary limitations of life and death did not
affect him. He wanted to fight and last as long as
possible to leave a famous name in his regiment, and
to add as many citations as possible to the three
medals he had already gained. He was the only man
I ever met who was really eager to get back to the
trenches, and he said to me with a smile when I
stopped to let him off, "Thanks for the lift, mon
vieux, but I hope you don't have to carry me back."

After that we rode north along the Meuse, through

LOADING THE AMBULANCE

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

a beautiful country where the snow-covered hills,
with their sky-lines of carefully pruned French trees,
made me think of masterpieces of Japanese art. In
the many little villages there was much excitement
and activity with troops, artillery, and munitions
being rushed through to the front, and the consequent
wild rumors of great attacks and victories. Curiously
enough, there were few who thought of defeat. They
were all sure, even when a retreat was reported, that
the French were winning, and that spirit of confidence
had much to do with stopping the Germans.

At about six in the evening we reached our destina-
tion some forty miles northeast of Bar-le-Duc. The
little village where we stopped had been a railroad
centre until the day before, when the Germans
started bombarding it. Now the town was evacuated,
and the smoking station deserted. The place had
ceased to exist, except for a hospital which was estab-
lished on the southern edge of the town in a lovely
old chateau, overlooking the Meuse. We were called
up to the hospital as soon as we arrived to take such
wounded as could be moved to the nearest available
rail-head, which was ten miles away, on the main
road, and four miles south of Verdun. We started out
in convoy, but with the then conditions of traffic, it
was impossible to stick together, and it took some of
us till five o'clock the next morning to make the trip.
That was the beginning of the attack for us, and the
work of "evacuating" the wounded to the railway
stations went steadily on until March 15. It was left

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

to the driver to decide how many trips it was physi-
cally possible for him to make in each twenty -four
hours. There were more wounded than could be
carried, and no one could be certain of keeping any
kind of schedule with the roads as they then were.

Sometimes we spent five or six hours waiting at a
cross-road, while columns of troops and their equip-
ment filed steadily by. Sometimes at night we could
make a trip in two hours that had taken us ten in
daylight. Sometimes, too, we crawled slowly to a
station only to find it deserted, shells falling, and the
hospital moved to some still more distant point of
the line. Situations and conditions changed from
day to day — almost from hour to hour. One day it
was sunshine and spring, with roads six inches deep
in mud, no traffic, and nothing to remind one of war,
except the wounded in the car and the distant roar
of the guns, which sounded like a giant beating a
carpet. The next day it was winter again, with mud
turned to ice, the roads blocked with troops, and the
Germans turning hell loose with their heavy guns.

In such a crisis as those first days around Verdun,
ammunition and fresh men are the all-essential things.
The wounded are the dechets, the "has-beens," and
so must take second place. But the French are too
gallant and tender-hearted not to make sacrifices.
I remember one morning I was slapped off the road
into a ditch with a broken axle, while passing a soli-
tary camion. The driver got down, came over, and
apologized for the accident, which was easily half

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

my fault. Then we unloaded four cases of "seventy-
five" shells that he was carrying, and put my three
wounded in on the floor of his car. He set out slowly
and carefully up the ice-covered road, saying to me
with a smile as he left, "Don't let the Boches get my
marmites while I'm gone." For some time I sat
there alone on the road, watching the shells break
on a hill some miles away to the north, and wonder-
ing when I could get word of my mishap back to
the base. Then a staff car appeared down the road
making its way along slowly and with difficulty, be-
cause, being without chains, it skidded humorously
with engine racing and the chauffeur trying vainly
to steer. There was a captain of the Service des Autos
sitting on the front seat, and he was so immacu-
lately clean and well groomed that he seemed far
away from work of any kind. But when the car
stopped completely about halfway up the little hill
on which I was broken down, he jumped out, took
off his fur coat, and using it to give the rear wheels
a grip on the ice, he swung it under the car. As the
wheels passed over it, he picked it up and swung it
under again. So the car climbed the hill and slid
down the other slope round the curve and out of sight.
It was just another incident that made me realize
the spirit and energy of the French Automobile
Service. But the captain had not solved any of my
difficulties. He had been too busy to notice me or
wonder why an American ambulance was sprawled
in a ditch with four cases of shells alongside.

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

I had been waiting there in the road about two
hours when another American came by and took
back word of my accident and of the parts necessary
to set it right. Then about noon my friend came
back in his camion to take up his cases of shells and
report my wounded safe at the railway station. We
lunched together on the front seat of the camion on
bread, tinned " monkey meat," and red wine, while
he told me stories about his life as a driver. He had
been on his car then for more than twenty days with-
out leaving it for food or sleep. That morning his
"partner" had been wounded by a shell, so he had
to drive all that day alone. Usually the two men drive
two hours, turn and turn about; while one is driving,
the other can eat, sleep, or read the day before yes-
terday's newspaper. The French camions are organ-
ized in sections of twenty. Usually each section
works in convoy, and has its name and mark painted
on its cars. I saw some with elephants or ships, some
with hearts or diamonds, clubs or spades, some with
dice — in fact, every imaginable symbol has been
used to distinguish the thousands of sections in the
service. The driver told me there were more than
ten thousand trucks working between Verdun and
Bar-le-Duc. There is great rivalry between the men
of the several sections in matters of speed and load
— especially between the sections of French and
those of American or Italian cars. The American
product has the record for speed, which is, however,
offset by its frequent need of repair.

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

My friend told me about trips he had made up
as far as the third-line trenches, and how they were
using " seventy-fives" like machine-guns in dug-outs,
where the shells were fired at "zero," so that they
exploded immediately after leaving the mouth of the
gun. The French, he said, would rather lose guns than
men, and according to him, there Were so many guns
placed in the "live" parts of the Sector that the
wheels touched, and so formed a continuous line.

As soon as we had finished lunch he left me, and
I waited for another two hours until the American
staff car (in other surroundings I should call it an
ordinary Ford touring-car with a red cross or so
added) came along loaded with an extra "rear con-
struction," and driven by the Chief himself. It took
us another four hours to remove my battered rear
axle and put in the new parts, but my car was back
in service by midnight.

That was a typical instance of the kind of accident
that was happening, and there were about three
"Ford casualties" every day. Thanks to the sim-
plicity of the mechanism of the Ford, and to the fact
that, with the necessary spare parts, the most serious
indisposition can be remedied in a few hours, our
Section has been at the front for a year — ten months
in the Bois-le-Pretre, and two months at Verdun —
without being sent back out of service for general re-
pairs. In the Bois-le-Pretre we had carried the
wounded from the dressing-stations to the first hos-
pital, while at Verdun we were on service from the

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

hospital to the rail-heads. In this latter work of
Evacuation the trips were much longer, thirty to
ninety miles, so the strain on the cars was correspond-
ingly greater. As our cars, being small and fast, car-
ried only three wounded on stretchers or five seated,
our relative efficiency was low in comparison with
the wear and tear of the 'running-gear" and the
amount of oil and petrol used. But in the period from
February 22 to March 13, twenty days, with an
average of eighteen cars working, we carried 2046
wounded 18,915 miles. This would be no record on
good open roads, but with the conditions I have al-
ready described I think it justified the existence of
our volunteer organization — if it needed justifica-
tion. Certainly the French thought so, but they are
too generous to be good judges.

Except for our experiences on the road, there was
little romance in the daily routine. True, we were
under shell fire, and had to sleep in our cars or in a
much-inhabited hayloft, and eat in a little inn, half
farmhouse and half stable, where the food was none
too good and the cooking none too clean; but we all
realized that the men in the trenches would have
made of such conditions a luxurious paradise, so that
kept us from thinking of it as anything more than a
rather strenuous "camping out."

During the first days of the attack, the roads were
filled with refugees from the town of Verdun and the
country north of it. As soon as the bombardment
started, civilians were given five hours to leave, and

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AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

we saw them — old men, women, and children —
struggling along through the snow on their way south.
It was but another of those sad migrations that occur
so often in the zone des armees. The journey was
made difficult and often dangerous for them by the
columns of skidding trucks, so the more timid took
to the fields or the ditches at the roadside. They
were for the most part the petits bourgeois who had
kept their shops open until the last minute, to make
the town gay for the troops, who filed through the
Promenade de la Digue in an endless queue on their
way to and from the trenches. Most of them had
saved nothing but the clothes on their backs, though
I saw one old woman courageously trundling a
barrow overflowing with laces, post-cards, bonbons
(doubtless the famous DragSes verdunoises) , and other
similar things which had been part of her stock-in-
trade, and with which she would establish a Verdun
souvenir shop when she found her new home. There
were many peasant carts loaded with every imagin-
able article of household goods from stoves to bird
cages; but no matter what else a cart might contain,
there was always a mattress with the members of
the family, old and young, bouncing along on top.
So ubiquitous was this mattress that I asked about
it, and was told that the French peasant considers it
the most important of his Lares, for it is there his
babies are born and his old people die — there, too,
is the family bank, the hiding-place for the has de
laine.

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

All the people, no matter what their class or sta-
tion, were excited. Some were resigned, some weep-
ing, some quarrelling, but every face reflected terror
and suffering, for these derelicts had been suddenly
torn from the ruins of their old homes and their old
lives after passing through two days of the heaviest
bombardment the world has ever seen.

I did not wonder at their grief or terror when I had
seen the town from which they fled. Sometimes it is
quiet, with no shells and no excitement; at others it
is a raging hell, a modern Pompeii in the ruining.
Often I passed through the town, hearing and seeing
nothing to suggest that any enemy artillery was
within range. But one morning I went up to take a
doctor to a near-by hospital, and had just passed
under one of the lovely old twelfth-century gates,
with its moat and towers, when the Germans be-
gan their morning hate. I counted one hundred and
fifty shells, arrivSs, in the first quarter of an hour.

After making my way up on the old fortifications in
the northeastern quarter, I had an excellent view of
the whole city — a typical garrison town of northern
France spreading over its canals and river up to the
Citadel and Cathedral on the heights. Five and six
shells were shrieking overhead at the same time, and
a corresponding number of houses in the centre of
the town going up in dust and debris, one after an-
other, almost as fast as I could count.

During this bedlam a military gendarme strolled
up as unconcerned as if he had been looking out for a

102

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

stranger in the Champs Elysees. He told me about
a dug-out that was somewhere " around the corner."
But we both got so interested watching the shells
and their effect that we stayed where we were. The
gendarme had been in the town long enough to be-
come an authority on bombardments, and he could
tell me the different shells and what they were hitting,
from the colored smoke which rose after each explo-
sion and hung like a pall over the town in the wind-
less spring air. When the shells fell on the Cathe-
dral — often there were three breaking on and around
it at the same time — there sprang up a white cloud,
while on the red tiles and zinc roofs they exploded
in brilliant pink-and-yellow puffs. The air was filled
with the smell of the burning celluloid and coal-tar
products used in the manufacture of the high explo-
sive and incendiary shells. It was very impressive,
and even my friend the gendarme said, "C'est chic,
n 9est-ce pas? It is the heaviest rain we have had for
several days." Then he pointed to the left where a col-
umn of flame and smoke, heavier than that from the
shells, was rising, and said, " Watch them now, and
you'll understand their system, the cochons. That's
a house set afire with their incendiary shells, and now
they will throw shrapnel around it to keep our fire-
men from putting it out." And so they did, for I could
see the white puffs of the six-inch shrapnel shells
breaking in and around the column of black smoke,
which grew denser all the time. Then two German
Taubes, taking advantage of the smoke, came over

103

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

and dropped bombs, for no other reason than to add
terror to the confusion. But the eighty firemen, a
brave little band brought up from Paris with their
hose-carts and engine, refused to be confused or
terrified. Under the shells and smoke we could see
the streams of water playing on the burning house.
''They are working from the cellars," said the gen-
darme. It was fortunate there was no wind, for that
house was doomed, and but for the fact that all the
buildings were stone, the fire would have spread over
all that quarter of the town despite the gallantry of
the firemen.

The bombardment continued steadily for about
two hours and a half, until several houses were well
alight and many others completely destroyed. Then
about noon it stopped as suddenly as it had started.
I wanted to go down and watch the firemen work,
but the gendarme, who had produced an excellent
bottle of no ordinary pinard, said, " Wait a while, mon
vieux, that is part of the system. They have only
stopped to let the people come out. In a few min-
utes it will start again, when they will have more
chance of killing somebody."

But for once he was wrong, and after waiting with
him for half an hour, I went down to the first house
I had seen catch fire. The firemen were still there,
working with hose and axe to prevent the fire from
spreading. The four walls of the house were still
standing, but inside there was nothing but a furnace
which glowed and leaped into flame with every

104

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H
H

H
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PL-C

AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

draught of air, so that the sparks flew over the neigh-
boring houses, and started other fires which the fire-
men were busy controlling. These pompiers are no
longer civilians. The black uniform and gay brass
and leather helmet of Paris fashion have been re-
placed with the blue-gray of the poilu, with the regu-
lation steel shrapnel casque or bourguignotte. The
French press has had many accounts of their heroism
since the beginning of the attack. Certainly if any
of the town is left, it will be due to their efforts among
the ruins. There are only eighty of them in the town.
Half of them are men too old for "active service" yet
they have stayed there for two months working night
and day under the shells, with the strain of the bom-
bardment added to the usual dangers from falling
walls and fire. They are still as gay and eager as ever.
Their spirit and motto is the same as that of every
soldier and civilian who is doing hard work in these
hard times. They all say, "It is war," or more often,
"It is for France."

I left them saving what they could of the house,
and walked on over the river through the town. It
is truly the Abomination of Desolation. The air was
heavy and hot with the smell of explosives and the
smoke from the smouldering ruins. Not a sound
broke the absolute quiet and not a soul was in sight.
I saw two dogs and a cat all slinking about on the
search for food, and evidently so crazed with terror
that they could not leave their old homes. Finally,
crossing over the canal, where the theatre, now a heap

105

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

of broken beams and stones, used to stand, I met an
old bearded Territorial leaning over the bridge with
a net in his hand to dip out fish killed by the explo-
sion of the shells in the water. He did not worry
about the danger of his position on the bridge, and,
like all true fishermen, when they have had good
luck, he was happy and philosophical. "One must
live," said he, "and it's very amiable of the Boches
to keep us in fish with their marmites, n9est-ce pas,
mon vieux?" We chatted for a while of bombard-
ments, falling walls, and whether the Germans would
reach Verdun. He, of course, like every soldier in
that region, was volubly sure they would not. Then
I went up on the hill towards the Cathedral, by the
old library, which was standing with doors and win-
dows wide open, and with the well-ordered books
still on the tables and in the shelves. As yet it is un-
touched by fire or shell, but too near the bridge to
escape for long.

I continued my way through streets filled with
fallen wires, broken glass, and bits of shell. Here
and there were dead horses and broken wagons
caught in passing to or from the lines. There is
nothing but ruins left of the lovely residential quar-
ter below the Cathedral. The remaining walls of
the houses, gutted by flame and shell, stand in a
wavering line along a street, blocked with debris,
and with furniture and household articles that the
firemen have saved. The furniture is as safe in the
middle of the street as anywhere else in the town.

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AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT VERDUN

As I passed along I could hear from time to time the
crash and roar of falling walls, and see the rising
clouds of white stone dust that has settled thickly
everywhere.

The Cathedral, with its Bishop's Palace and clois-
ters, — all fine old structures of which the founda-
tions were laid in the eleventh and twelfth centuries,
— must, from its commanding position overlooking
the town, be singled out for destruction. I watched
ten shells strike the Cathedral that one morning, and
some of them were the terrible 380's, the shells of
the sixteen-inch mortars, which make no noise as
they approach and tear through to the ground before
their explosion.

The interior of the Cathedral, blurred with a half-
inch layer of stone dust, is in most "unchurchly"
disorder. Four or five shells have torn large holes
through the roof of the nave, and twice as many more
have played havoc with the chapels and aisles at the
side. One has fallen through the gilded canopy over
the high altar and broken one of the four supporting
columns, which before were monoliths like those of
St. Peter's at Rome. Of course, most of the stained-
glass windows are scattered in fragments over the
floor, and through the openings on the southern side
I could see the ruins of the cloisters, with some chairs
and a bed literally falling into them from a room of
the Bishop's Palace above.

This destruction of the Cathedral is typical of the
purposeless barbarity of the whole proceeding. The

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

wiping out of the town can serve no military pur-
pose. There are no stores of munitions or railway
communications to be demolished. Naturally there
are no troops quartered in the town, and now all
extensive movements of convoys are conducted by
other roads than those leading through the town.
Yet the bombardment continues day after day, and
week after week. The Germans are sending in about
£5,000,000 worth of shells a month. "It's spite," a
foilu said to me; "they have made up their minds to
destroy the town since they can't capture it; but it
will be very valuable as an iron mine after the war." 1

Frank Hoyt Gailor

1 Since the writing of this chapter, five Sections of the Ambulance have
been sent to the vicinity of Verdun: Section 3 to the region about Douau-
mont; Section 4 to Mort Homme; Section 8 to the neighborhood of the
fortress of Vaux; Section 2 to the immediate neighborhood of Verdun;
and Section 1 to the region of Fort Souville and Fort St. Michel.

VII

ONE OF THE SECTIONS AT VERDUN

It gave us rather a wrench to leave Pont-a-Mousson.
The Section had been quartered there since April,
1915, and we were attached to the quaint town and
to the friends we had made. The morning of our de-
parture was warm and clear. Walking along the con-
voy, which had formed in the road before our villa,
came the poilus, and shook hands with each con-
ducteur. "Au revoir, monsieur." "Au revoir, Paul"
"Bonne chance, Pierre!" We took a last look at the
town which had sheltered us, at the scene of the most
dramatic moments in our lives. Above the tragic sil-
houette of a huddle of ruined houses rose the grassy
slopes of the great ridge crowned by the Bois-le-
Pretre, the rosy morning mists were lifting from the
shell-shattered trees, a golden sun poured down a
spring-like radiance. Suddenly a great cloud of gray-
ish white smoke rose over the haggard wood and
melted slowly away in the northeast wind; an instant
later, a reverberating boom signalled the explosion of
a mine in the trenches. There was a shrill whistle, our
lieutenant raised his hand, and the convoy swung
down the road to Dieulouard. "Au revoir les Ameri-

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

coins ! " cried our friends. A little, mud-slopped, blue-
helmeted handful, they waved to us till we turned the
corner. "Au revoir, les Americains!"

We left Pont-a-Mousson imagining that our Sec-
tion was in for a month's repairing and tinkering at
the military motor park, but as we came towards B.
our opinion changed. We began to pass file after file
of troops, many of them the khaki-clad troupes d'at-
taque, bull-necked Zouaves, and wiry, fine-featured
Arabs. A regiment was halted at a crossroad; some of
the men had taken off their jackets and hung them
to the cross-beam of a wayside crucifix. On the grass
before it, in the circle of shade made by the four trees
which pious Meusian custom here plants round a
Calvaire, sprawled several powerful-looking fellows;
one lay flat on his belly with his face in his Turkish
cap. Hard by, in a little copse, the regimental kitchen
was smoking and steaming away. A hunger-breeding
smell of la soupe, la bonne soupe, assailed our nostrils.
Quite by himself, an older man was skilfully cutting a
slice of bread with a shiny, curved knife. The rooks
eddied above the bare brown fields. Just below was a
village with a great cloud of wood smoke hanging
over it.

Late in the afternoon we were assigned quarters in
the barracks of B.

110

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i— i
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THE SECTION AT VERDUN

At B. we found an English Section that had been
as suddenly displaced as our own. Every minute
loaded camions ground into town and disappeared
towards the east, troops of all kinds came in, flick,
flack, the sun shining on the barrels of the lebels, a
train of giant mortars, mounted on titanic trucks and
drawn by big motor lorries, crashed over the pave-
ments and vanished somewhere. Some of our con-
ducteurs made friends with the English drivers, and
swapped opinions as to what was in the wind. One
heard, "Well, those Frenchies have got something up
their sleeve. We were in the battle of Champarng,
and it began just like this." A voice from our Ameri-
can West began, "Say — what kind of carburetors do
you birds use?" New England asked, "How many
cars have you got?" And London, on being shown
the stretcher arrangements of our cars, exclaimed,
"That ain't so dusty, — eh, wot?" Round us, rising
to the full sea of the battle, the tide of war surged and
disappeared. At dusk a company of dragoons, big
helmeted men on big horses, trotted by, their blue
mantles and mediaeval casques giving them the air of
crusaders. At night the important corners of the
streets were lit with cloth transparencies, with "Ver-
dun" and a great black arrow painted on them.
Night and day, going as smoothly as if they were
linked by an invisible chain, went the hundred con-
voys of motor lorries. There was a sense of some-
Ill

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

thing great in the air — a sense of apprehension.
"Les Bodies vont attaquer Verdun,"

On the 21st the order came to go to M. The Bodies
had made their first attack that morning; this, how-
ever, we did not know. At M., a rather unlovely
eighteenth-century chateau stands in a park built out
on the meadows of the Meuse. The flooded river
flowed round the dark pines. At night one could hear
the water roaring under the bridges. The chateau,
which had been a hospital since the beginning of the
war, reeked with ether and iodoform; pasty-faced,
tired attendants unloaded mud, cloth, bandages, and
blood that turned out to be human beings; an over-
wrought doctor-in-chief screamed contradictory or-
ders at everybody, and flared into crises of hysterical
rage.

Ambulance after ambulance came from the lines
full of clients; kindly hands pulled out the stretch-
ers, and bore them to the wash-room. This was in the
cellar of the dove-cote, in a kind of salt-shaker turret.
Snip, snap went the scissors of the brancardiers, who
looked after the bath, — good souls these two; the
uniforms were slit from mangled limbs. The wounded
lay naked in their stretchers while the attendant
daubed them with a hot soapy sponge; the blood ran
from their wounds through the stretcher to the floor,
and seeped into the cracks of the stones. A lean,
bearded man, closed his eyes over the agony of his

THE SECTION AT VERDUN -

opened entrails and died there. I thought of Henner's
dead Christ.

Outside, mingling with the roaring of the river,
came the great, terrible drumming of the bombard-
ment. An endless file of troops were passing down
the great road. Night came on. Our ambulances
were in a little side street at right angles to the great
road; their lamps flares beat fiercely on a little section
of the great highway. Suddenly, plunging out of the
darkness into the intense radiance of the acetylene
beams, came a battery of 75's, the helmeted men
leaning over on the horses, the guns rattling and the
harness clanking, a swift picture of movement that
plunged again into darkness. And with the darkness,
the whole horizon became brilliant with cannon fire.

We were well within the horseshoe of German fire
that surrounded the French lines. It was between
midnight and one o'clock, the sky was deep and clear,
with big ice-blue winter stars. We halted at a certain
road to wait our chance to deliver our wounded. It
was a melee of beams of light, of voices, of obscure
motions, sounds. Refugees went by, decent people
in black, the women being escorted by a soldier. One
saw sad, harassed faces. A woman came out of the
turmoil, carrying a cat in a canary cage; the animal
swept the gilded bars with curved claws, and its eyes
shone black and crazily. Others went by pushing
baby carriages full to the brim with knick-knacks

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

and packages. Some pushed a kind of barrow. At
the very edge of earth and sky was a kind of violet-
white inferno, the thousand finger-like jabs of the
artillery shot unceasing to the stars, the great semi-
circular aureole flares of the shorter pieces were seen
a hundred times a minute. Over the moorland came
a terrible roaring such as a river might make tum-
bling through some subterranean abyss. A few miles
below, a dull, ruddy smouldering in the sky told of
fires in Verdun. The morning clouded over, the
dawn brought snow. Even in the daytime the great
cannon flashes could be seen in the low, brownish
snow-clouds.

On the way to M., two horses that had died of ex-
haustion lay in a frozen ditch. Ravens, driven from
their repast by the storm, cawed hungrily in the trees.

We slept in the loft of one of the buildings that
formed the left wing of the courtyard of the castle.
To enter it, we had to pass through a kind of lumber-
room on the ground floor in which the hospital coffins
were kept. Above was a great, dim loft, rich in a
greasy, stably smell, a smell of horses and sweaty
leather, the odor of a dirty harness room. At the end
of the room, on a kind of raised platform, was the
straw in which we lay; a crazy, sagging shelf, covered
with oily dust, bundles of clothes, knapsacks, books,
candle ends, and steel helmets, ran along the wall over
our heads. All night long, the horses underneath us

114

THE SECTION AT VERDUN

squealed, pounded, and kicked. I see in the lilac
dawn of a winter morning the yellow light of an
officer's lantern, and hear the call, "Up, boys —
there's a call to B." The bundles in the dirty blan-
kets groan; unshaven, unwashed faces turn tired eyes
to the lantern; some, completely worn out, lie in a
kind of sleepy stupor. A wicked screaming whistle
passes over our heads, and the shell, bursting on a
nearby location, startles the dawn.

The snow begins to fall again. The river has fallen,
and the air is sickish with the dank smell of the un-
covered meadows. A regiment on the way to the
front has encamped just beyond the hospital. The
men are trying to build little shelters. A handful of
fagots is blazing in the angle of two walls; a handful
of grave-faced men stand round it, stamping their
feet. In the hospital yard, the stretcher-bearers un-
load the body of an officer who has died in the ambu-
lance. The dead man's face is very calm and peace-
ful, though the bandages indicate terrible wounds.
The cannon flashes still jab the snowy sky.

VII

The back of the attack is broken, and we are be-
ginning to get a little rest. During the first week our
cars averaged runs of two hundred miles a day. And
this over roads chewed to pieces, and through the
most difficult traffic. In one of the places, there was a
formidable shell gantlet to run.

This morning I drove to B. with a poilu. He

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

asked me what I did en civil, I told him. "I am a
patissier" he replied. "When this business is over,
we shall have some cakes together in my good warm
shop, and my wife shall make us some chocolate.' '
He gave me his address. A regiment of young men
marched singing down the moorland road to the
battle-line. "Ah, les braves enfantsl" said the pastry
cook.

Henry Sheahan

c~. \+

VIII

THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

The Section which is here designated as the "Sec-
tion in Flanders" has at least two distinguishing
characteristics. This was the first Section of substan-
tial proportions to be geographically separated from
the "American Ambulance" at Neuilly and turned
over to the French army. Until it left "for the front"
our automobiles had worked either to and from the
Neuilly hospital, as an evacuating base, or, if temp-
orarily detached for service elsewhere, they had gone
out in very small units.

Secondarily, it has the distinction of having been
moved about more frequently and of having been at-
tached to more diverse army units than any other of
our Sections. During the first year of its history, it
was located successively in almost every part of Flan-
ders still subject to the Allies : first at Dunkirk and
Malo, then at Poperinghe and Elverdinghe, then at
Coxyde and Nieuport, then at Crombeke and Woes-
ten. Then after a full year in Flanders it was moved
to Beauvais for revision, and since then it has worked
in the region between Soissons and Compiegne and
subsequently in the neighborhood of Mericourt-sur-
Somme.

During most of the time the men have been quar-
tered in barns and stables, sleeping in lofts in the hay

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

or straw, or on stretchers on the floor, or inside their
ambulances, or, during the summer, on the ground,
in improvised tents in the open fields.

The opportunities for comfortable writing have
been few, and no complete story of the Section's
experiences has ever been written. The following
pages give only glimpses of a history which has been
crammed with incidents and impressions worth re-
cording.

The Section's story began in the cold wet days of
early January, 1915, when twenty men with twelve
cars left Paris for the north. We spent our first night
en route in the shadow of the Beauvais Cathedral,
passing the following day through many towns filled
with French troops, and then, as we crossed into the
British Sector, through towns and villages abound-
ing with the khaki-clad soldiers of England and her
colonies and the turbaned troops of British India.
The second night we stayed at Saint-Omer, the men
sleeping in their cars in the centre of the town square,
and the third morning, passing out of the British
Sector once more into the French lines, we arrived
in Dunkirk where our work began.

We were at once assigned to duty in connection
with a hospital established in the freight shed of a
railway station, and from then on for many a long
day our duty was to carry wounded and sick in a
never-ending stream from the station, where they
arrived from the front by four or five daily trains, to
the thirty or more hospitals in and about the city.

118

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THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

Every school, barrack, and other large building in the
town (even the public theatre) or in the neighboring
towns within ten miles of Dunkirk, seemed to have
been turned into a hospital. Our work was extremely-
useful, the Section carrying scores and scores of sick
and wounded, day after day, week in and out. The
first incident of an exciting nature came on the second
day.

We were nearly all at the station, quietly waiting
for the next train, when high up in the air there ap-
peared first one, then three, and finally seven grace-
ful aeroplanes. We watched, fascinated, and were
the more so when a moment later we learned that
they were Taubes. It seemed hard to realize that we
were to witness one of the famous raids that have
made Dunkirk even more famous than the raider
Jean Bart himself had ever done. Explosions were
heard on all sides and the sky was soon spotted with
puffs of white smoke from the shells fired at the in-
truders. The rattle of the mitrailleuses and the bang
of the 75's became a background of sound for the
more solemn boom of the shells. A few moments
later there was a bang not thirty yards away and we
were showered with bits of stone. We stood spell-
bound until the danger was over and then foolishly
jumped behind our cars for protection.

This incident of our early days was soon thrown
into unimportance by other raids, each more interest-
ing than the last. One of them stands out in memory
above all the rest. It was a perfect moonlit night,

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

quite cloudless. Four of my companions and I were
on night duty in the railway yard. About eleven the
excitement started, and to say it commenced with a
bang is not slang but true. Rather it commenced
with many bangs. The sight was superb and the ex-
citement intense. One could hear the whirr of the
motors, and when they presented a certain angle to
the moon the machines showed up like enormous
silver flies. One had a delicious feeling of danger, and
to stand there and hear the crash of the artillery, the
buzzing of the aeroplanes, the swish of the bombs as
they fell and the crash as they exploded, made an un-
forgettable experience. One could plainly hear the
bombs during their flight, for each has a propeller at-
tached which prevents its too rapid descent, thus in-
suring its not entering so far into the ground as to ex-
plode harmlessly. To hear them coming and to wonder
if it would be your turn next was an experience new
to us all. The bombardment continued for perhaps
an hour and then our work began. I was sent down
to the quay and brought back two wounded men and
one who had been killed, and all my companions had
about the same experience. One took a man from a
half -demolished house; another, an old woman who
had been killed in her bed; another, three men badly
mutilated who had been peacefully walking on the
street. An hour later all was quiet — except perhaps
the nerves of some of the men.

About this time our work was enlivened by the ap-
pearance of the one and only real ambulance war dog

120

THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

and the official mascot of the squad. And my personal
dog at that! I was very jealous on that point and
rarely let him ride on another machine. I got him at
Zuydcoote. He was playing about, and as he ap-
peared to be astray and was very friendly, I allowed
him to get on the seat and stay there. But I had to
answer so many questions about him that it became a
bore, and finally I prepared a speech to suit all oc-
casions, and when any one approached me used to say,
"Non, madame, il n'est pas Americain, il est Frangais;
je Fai trouve ici dans le Nord." One day a rosy-
cheeked young lady approached us, called the dog
"Dickie" and I started my speech. "II ne s'appelle
pas Dickie, madame, mais Khaki, et vous savez il est
Frangais." "Je sais bien, monsieur, puisqu'il est a
moi." I felt sorry and chagrined, but not for long, as
a moment later the lady presented him to me.

We will skip over the humdrum life of the next few
weeks to a night in April when we were suddenly
ordered to the station at about 1 a.m. It was, I think,
April 22. "The Germans have crossed the Yser"
was the news that sent a thrill through all of us.
Would they this time reach Calais or would they be
pushed back? We had no time to linger and wonder.
All night long we worked unloading the trains that
followed each other without pause. The Germans had
used a new and infernal method of warfare; they had
released a cloud of poisonous gas which, with a favora-
ble wind, had drifted down and completely enveloped
the Allies' trenches. The tales of this first gas attack

121

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

were varied and fantastic, but all agreed on the sup-
prise and the horror of it. Trains rolled in filled with
huddled figures, some dying, some more lightly
touched, but even these coughed so that they were
unable to speak coherently. All told the same story, of
having become suddenly aware of a strange odor, and
then of smothering and choking and falling like flies.
In the midst of all this had come a hail of shrapnel.
The men were broken as I have never seen men
broken. In the months of our work we had become so
accustomed to dreadful sights and to suffering as to
be little affected by them. The sides and floor of our
cars had often been bathed in blood; our ears had not
infrequently been stirred by the groans of men in
agony. But these sufferers from the new form of at-
tack inspired in us all feelings of pity beyond any that
we had ever felt before. To see these big men bent
double, convulsed and choking, was heartbreaking
and hate-inspiring.

At ten o'clock we were ordered to Poperinghe,
about twenty milesjrom Dunkirk and three miles
from Ypres, where one of the biggest battles of the
war was just getting under way. The town was filled
with refugees from Ypres, which was in flames and
uninhabitable. Through Poperinghe and beyond it
we slowly wound our way in the midst of a solid
stream of motor trucks, filled with dust-covered
soldiers coming up to take their heroic part in stem-
ming the German tide. We were to make our head-
quarters for the time at Elverdinghe, but as we ap-

122

A "POSTE DE SEC OURS" IN FLANDERS

WAITING AT A "POSTE DE SECOURS "

THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

proached our destination the road was being shelled
and we put on our best speed to get through the
danger zone. This destination turned out to be a
small chateau in Elverdinghe, where a first-aid hos-
pital had been established. All round us batteries
of French and English guns were thundering their
aid to the men in the trenches some two miles away.
In front of us and beside us were the famous 75's,
the 90's, and 120's, and farther back the great Eng-
lish marine guns, and every few seconds we could
hear their big shells passing over us. An automobile
had just been put out of commission by a shell, be-
fore we reached the chateau, so we had to change
our route and go up another road. The chateau pre-
sented a terrible scene. In every room straw and
beds and stretchers, and mangled men everywhere.
We started to work and for twenty-six hours there
was scarcely time for pause. Our work consisted in
going down to the postes de secours, or first-aid sta-
tions, situated in the Flemish farmhouses, perhaps
four hundred or five hundred yards from the trenches,
where the wounded get their first primitive dress-
ings, and then in carrying the men back to the dress-
ing-stations where they were dressed again, and
then in taking them farther to the rear to the hos-
pitals outside of shell range. The roads were bad
and we had to pass a constant line of convoys. At
night no lights were allowed and one had to be es-
pecially careful not to jolt his passengers. Even
the best of drivers cannot help bumping on the

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

pavements of Belgium, but when for an hour each
cobble brings forth a groan from the men inside, it
is hard to bear. Often they are out of their heads.
They call then for their mothers — they order the
charge — to cease firing — they see visions of beau-
tiful fields — of cool water — and sometimes they
die before the trip is over.

At Elverdinghe the bombardment was tremen-
dous; the church was crumbling bit by bit. The
guns were making too great a noise for sleep. About
4 p.m. we started out to find something to eat. A
problem this, for the only shop still open was run by
an old couple too scared to cook. No food for hours
at a time gives desperate courage, so on we went
until we found in a farmhouse some ham and eggs
which we cooked ourselves. It was not altogether
pleasant, for the whole place was filled with dust,
the house next door having just been demolished by
a shell. However, the machines were untouched,
although a shell burst near them, and we hurried
back for another night's work.

The following morning we decided to stay in Elver-
dinghe and try to get a little sleep, but no sooner had
we turned in than we were awakened by the order
to get out of the chateau at once, as we were under
fire. While I was putting on my shoes the window
fell in and part of the ceiling came along. Then an
order came to evacuate the place of all its wounded,
and we were busy for hours getting them to a place
of safety. Shells were falling all about. One great

124

fct

A
H

THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

tree in front of me was cut completely off and an
auto near it was riddled with the fragments. For
two weeks this battle lasted. We watched our little
village gradually disintegrating under the German
shells. The cars were many times under more or less
heavy artillery and rifle fire and few there were with-
out shrapnel holes.

The advantage of our little cars over the bigger
and heavier ambulances was demonstrated many
times. On narrow roads, with a ditch on each side,
choked with troops, ammunition wagons, and ve-
hicles of all sorts moving in both directions, horses
sometimes rearing in terror at exploding shells, at
night in the pitch dark, except for the weird light
from the illuminating rockets, the little cars could
squeeze through somehow. If sometimes a wheel or
two would fall into a shell hole, four or five willing
soldiers were enough to lift it out and on its way
undamaged. If a serious collision occurred, two
hours' work sufficed to repair it. Always "on the
job," always efficient, the little car, the subject of a
thousand jokers, gained the admiration of every one.

To most of the posts we could go only after dark,
as they were in sight of the German lines. Once we
did go during the day to a post along the banks of
the Yser Canal, but it was too dangerous and the
General ordered such trips stopped. These few
trips were splendid, however. To see the men in the
trenches and hear the screech of the shells at the
very front was thrilling, indeed. At times a rifle bul-

125

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

let would find its way over the bank and flatten itself
against a near-by farmhouse. One was safer at night,
of course, but the roads were so full of marmite holes
and fallen trees that they were hard to drive along.
We could only find our way by carefully avoiding the
dark spots on the road. Not a man, however, who
did not feel a hundred times repaid for any danger
and anxiety of these trips in realizing the time and
suffering he had saved the wounded. Had we not
been there with our little cars, the wounded would
have been brought back on hand-stretchers or in
wagons far less comfortable and much more slow.

Finally the second battle of the Yser was over. The
front settled down again to the comparative quiet of
trench warfare. Meanwhile some of us were begin-
ning to feel the strain and were ordered back to Dun-
kirk for a rest. We reached there in time to witness
one of the most exciting episodes of the war. It was
just at this time that the Germans sprang another
surprise — the bombardment of Dunkirk from guns
more than twenty miles away. Shells that would
obliterate a whole house or make a hole in the ground
thirty feet across would fall and explode without even
a warning whistle such as ordinary shells make when
approaching. We were in the station working on our
cars at about 9.30 in the morning, when, out of a
clear, beautiful sky, the first shell fell. We thought it
was only from an aeroplane, as Dunkirk seemed far
from the range of other guns. The dog seemed to
know better, for he jumped off the seat of my car and

126

THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

came whining under me. A few minutes later came a
second and then a third shell. Still not knowing from
where they came, we got out our machines and went
to where the clouds of smoke gave evidence that they
had fallen. I had supposed myself by this time some-
thing of a veteran, but when I went into the first
dismantled house and saw what it looked like inside,
the street seemed by far a safer place. The house was
only a mass of torn timbers, dirt, and debris. Even
people in the cellar had been wounded. We worked
all that day, moving from place to place, sometimes
almost smothered by dust and plaster from the ex-
plosion of shells in our vicinity. We cruised slowly
around the streets waiting for the shells to come and
then went to see if any one had been hit. Sometimes,
when houses were demolished, we found every one
safe in the cellars, but there were many hurt, of course,
and quite a number killed. The first day I had three
dead and ten terribly wounded to carry, soldiers,
civilians, and women too. In one of the earlier bom-
bardments a shell fell in the midst of a funeral, de-
stroying almost every vestige of the hearse and body
and all of the mourners. Another day one of them hit
a group of children at play in front of the billet where
at one time we lodged, and it was said never to have
been known how many children had been killed, so
complete was their annihilation.

For a time every one believed the shells had been
fired from marine guns at sea, but sooner or later it
was proved that they came from land guns, twenty or

127

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

more miles away, and as these bombardments were
repeated in succeeding weeks, measures were taken to
safeguard the public from them. Although the shells
weighed nearly a ton, their passage through the air
took almost a minute and a half, and their arrival in
later days was announced by telephone from the
French trenches as soon as the explosion on their de-
parture had been heard. At Dunkirk a siren was
blown on the summit of a central tower, giving people
at least a minute in which to seek shelter in their
cellars before the shell arrived. Whenever we heard
the sirens our duty was to run into the city and search
for the injured, and during the succeeding weeks
many severely wounded were carried in our ambu-
lances, including women and children — so fre-
quently the victims of German methods of warfare.
The American ambulance cars were the only cars on
duty during these different bombardments and the
leader of the Section was awarded the Croix de
Guerre for the services which they performed.

In the summer a quieter period set in. Sunny
weather made life agreeable and in their greater leis-
ure the men were able to enjoy sea-bathing and walks
among the sand dunes. A regular ambulance service
was kept up in Dunkirk and the surrounding towns,
but part of the Section was moved to Coxyde, a small
village in the midst of the dunes near the sea between
the ruined city of Nieuport and La Panne, the resi-
dence of the Belgian King and Queen. Here we
worked for seven weeks, among the Zouaves and the

128

A GROUP OF AMERICAN DRIVERS IN NORTHERN FRANCE

THE CATHEDRAL IN NIEUPORT, JULY, 1915

THE SECTION IN FLANDERS

Fusiliers Marins, so famous the world over as the
" heroes of the Yser."

Then once more we were moved to the district
farther South known as Old Flanders, where our
headquarters were in a Flemish farm, adjacent to the
town of Crombeke. The landscape hereabout is flat
as a billiard-table, only a slight rise now and again
breaking the view. Our work consisted in bringing
back wounded from the vicinity of the Yser Canal
which then marked the line of the enemy's trenches,
but owing to the flatness of the country we had to
work chiefly at night. Canals dotted with slow-mov-
ing barges are everywhere, and as our work was often
a cross-country affair, looking for bridges added to the
length of our runs. Here we stayed from August to
the middle of December, during which we did the
ambulance work for the entire French front between
the English and the Belgian Sectors.

Just as another winter was setting in and we were
once more beginning to get hordes of cases of frozen
feet, we were ordered to move again, this time to an-
other army. The day before we left, Colonel Morier
visited the Section and, in the name of the Army,
thanked the men in glowing terms, not only for the
work which they had done, but for the way in which
they had done it. He recalled the great days of the
Second Battle of the Yser and the Dunkirk bombard-
ments and what the Americans had done; how he had
always felt sure that he could depend upon them, and
how they had always been ready for any service how-

129

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

ever arduous or dull or dangerous it might be. He
expressed officially and personally his regret at our
departure.

We left on a day that was typical and reminiscent
of hundreds of other days we had spent in Flanders.
It was raining when our convoy began to stretch it-
self out along the road and it drizzled all that day. *

Joshua G. B. Campbell

1 This Section has since added several important chapters to its his-
tory, having served successively on the Aisne, on the Somme, at Verdun,
and in the Argonne. (November, 1916.)

THE BEGINNINGS OF A NEW SECTION

The night before we were to leave we gave a dinner to
the officers of the Ambulance. There were not many
speeches, but we were reminded that we were in
charge of one of the best-equipped Sections which
had as yet taken the field, and that we were going to
the front in an auxiliary capacity to take the place
of Frenchmen needed for the sterner work of the
trenches. We might be sent immediately to the front
or kept for a while in the rear; but in any event
there were sick and wounded to be carried and our job
was to help by obeying orders.

Early the next morning we ran through the Bois-
de-Boulogne and over an historic route to Versailles,
where, at the headquarters of the Army Automo-
bile Service, our cars were numbered with a military
serial and the driver of each was given a Livret Matri-
cule, which is an open sesame to every motor park
in France. Those details were completed about ten
o'clock, and we felt at last as if we were French sol-
diers driving French automobiles on the way to our
place at the front.

About thirty kilometres outside of Paris the staff
car and the camionnette with the cook on board dashed
by us, and upon our arrival at a quaint little village
we found a cafe requisitioned for our use and its

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

stock of meat, bread, and red wine in profusion at our
disposal. In the evening we reached the town of
Esternay and there again found all prepared for our
reception. Rooms were requisitioned and the good
people took us in with open arms and the warmest of
hospitality, but one or two of us spread our blankets
over the stretchers in the back of our cars, because
there were not enough rooms and beds for all.

The next morning was much colder; there was some
snow and later a heavy fog. Our convoi got under way
shortly after breakfast and ran in record-breaking
time, for we wanted to finish our trip that evening.
We stopped for lunch and for an inspection which
consumed two hours, and starting about ten o'clock
on the last stretch of our journey, drove all afternoon
through sleet, cold, and snow. At seven o'clock that
night we reached Vaucouleurs, had our supper, se-
cured sleeping accommodations, and retired. Our
running orders had been completed; we had reached
our ordered destination in perfect form.

Several days passed. We were inspected by gen-
erals and other officers, all of whom seemed pleased
with the completeness of our Section. Yet improve-
ments they said were still possible and should be
made while we were at the park. We were to take
care of a service of evacuation of sick in that district
and at the same time try out a "heating system."
The Medical Inspector issued orders to equip two
ambulances and report the results. Our Section Di-
rector designed a system which uses the exhaust of

132

SOME OF THE MEMBERS OF SECTION IV

THE BEGINNINGS OF A NEW SECTION

the motor through two metal boxes, which arrange-
ment warmed the air within the car and also forced
the circulation of fresh air. This was installed in two
cars and found to be very satisfactory, for in all kinds
of weather and temperatures the temperature of
the ambulances could be kept between 65° and 70°
Fahrenheit.

We were at this place in all six weeks, including
Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. Our
work consisted of evacuating malades, and at first it
offered a fine opportunity of teaching the "green
ones" how to care for their cars. But we were all
soon put on our mettle.

The outlying country was full of lowlands and
streams which in many places during the hard rains
covered the roads to such a depth that the usual type
of French cars could not operate. Our car suspension
was high, and we were able to perform a service the
other cars had not been able to do. We established,
too, a standard for prompt service, and during the
weeks we were there it never became necessary that
we delay a call for service on account of "high water."
We left this district for other work with a record of
never having missed a call, and the promptness of
service, day or night, was often a matter of comment
by the French officials connected with this work.
During the high water, certain posts accustomed to
telephone for an ambulance would ask for an Amer-
ican Ambulance Boat, and the story was soon about
that we had water lines painted on the cars as gauges

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

for depths through which we could pass. I was once
in the middle of a swirling rapid with the nearest
"land" one hundred yards away. But I had to get
through, because I knew I had a pneumonia patient
with a high fever. I opened the throttle and charged.
When I got to the other side I was only hitting on
two cylinders, but as mine was the only car that day
to get through at all I boasted long afterwards of my
ambulance's fording ability.

We were always looking forward to being moved
and attached to some Division within the First Army,
and, as promised, the order came. Our service in this
district was completed, and on the morning of Janu-
ary 5 our convoi passed on its way to a new location.
Our work here included postes de secours that were
intermittently under fire, and several of the places
could only be reached at night, being in daylight
within plain view of the German gunners.

Here again we remained only a short time. With-
out any warning we received an order one evening to
proceed the next day to Toul. This we knew meant
7 a.m., for the French military day begins early, and
so all night we were busy filling our gasoline tanks,
cleaning spark-plugs, and getting a dismantled car
in shape to "roll."

The trip to Toul was without incident, and when
we drew up at the casernes which proved to be our fu-
ture home, we reported as ready for immediate work.
The next day five cars were sent to a secondary poste
de secours about ten kilometres from the lines and two

134

APPROACHING THE HIGH-WATER MARK

POILUS" AND AMERICANS SHARING THEIR LUNCH

THE BEGINNINGS OF A NEW SECTION

cars farther forward to a first-line poste de secours.
The rest of the ambulances formed a reserve at our
base to relieve daily those cars and take care of such
emergency calls as might come in day or night. Then
as soon as we proved our worth, we were given other
similar points on the lines, and gradually took over
the work of the French Section working with the next
Army Division.

To-day we have our full measure of shell adven-
tures, night driving, and long hours at the wheel.
But these are, of course, only the usual incidents of
life at the front. We, too, the whole Section feels, will
have our Second Battle of the Yser, or our attack on
Hartmannsweilerkopf , and we are as eager as any sol-
dier to prove what our men and cars can do in the face
of such emergencies.1

George Rockwell

1 Shortly after this was written, the Section was sent to the Verdun
sector, where for five months it has worked in the vicinity of Mort
Homme and Hill 304. During this period one of its members, Edward
J. Kelley, was killed, and another member, Roswell Sanders, was gravely
wounded. (November, 1916.)

5-V5>6;.

UN BLESSE A MONTAUVILLE

" Un blesse a Montauville — urgent /"

Calls the sallow-faced telephoniste.
The night is as black as hell's black pit,
There 's snow on the wind in the East.

There 's snow on the wind, there 's rain on the wind,
The cold's like a rat at your bones;

You crank your car till your soul caves in,
But the engine only moans.

The night is as black as hell's black pit;

You feel your crawling way
Along the shell-gutted, gun-gashed road —

How — only God can say.

The 120's and 75's

Are bellowing on the hill;
They 're playing at bowls with big trench-mines

Down at the Devil's mill.

Christ! Do you hear that shrapnel tune
Twang through the frightened air?

The Bodies are shelling on Montauville —
They're waiting for you up there!

" Un blesse — urgent ? Hold your lantern up
While I turn the damned machine !
Easy, just lift him easy now!

Why, the fellow's face is green!"

136

UN BLESSfi A MONTAUVILLE

"Oui, ga ne dure pas longtemps, tu sais."
"Here, cover him up — he's cold!
Shove the stretcher — it 's stuck ! That 's it — he 'i
in!'
Poor chap, not twenty years old.

Bon-soir, messieurs — a tout a Vheure!"
And you feel for the hell-struck road.

It 's ten miles off to the surgery,

With Death and a boy for your load.

Praise God for that rocket in the trench,

Green on the ghastly sky —
That camion was dead ahead!

Let the ravitaillement by !

"Courage, mon brave ! We're almost there!"
God, how the fellow groans —
And you 'd give your heart to ease the jolt
Of the ambulance over the stones.

Go on, go on, through the dreadful night —

How — only God He knows !
But now he's still! Aye, it's terribly still

On the way a dead man goes.

"Wake up, you swine asleep! Come out!
Un blesse — urgent — damned bad ! "
A lamp streams in on the blood-stained white
And the mud-stained blue of the lad.

II est mort, m'sieu!" "So the poor chap's dead?"
Just there, then, on the road

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

You were driving a hearse in the hell-black night,
With Death and a boy for your load.

O dump him down in that yawning shed,

A man at his head and feet;
Take off his ticket, his clothes, his kit,

And give him his winding-sheet.

It's just another poilu that's dead;

You've hauled them every day
Till your soul has ceased to wonder and weep

At war's wild, wanton play.

He died in the winter dark, alone,

In a stinking ambulance,
With God knows what upon his lips —

But on his heart was France!

Emery Pottle

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1915

In one of the most beautiful countries in the world,
the Alsatian Valley of the Thur runs to where the
Vosges abruptly end in the great flat plain of the
Rhine. In turn a small valley descends into that of
the Thur. At the head of this valley lies the small
village of Mollau where is billeted the Section Sani-
taire Americaine N° 3. It has been through months
of laborious, patient, never-ceasing trips from the
valley to the mountain-tops and back, up the broad-
ened mule-paths, rutted and worn by a thousand
wheels and the hoofs of mules, horses, and oxen, by
hobnailed boots and by the cars of the American
Ambulance (for no other Section is equipped with
cars and men for such service), up from the small
Alsatian towns, leaving the main valley road to grind
through a few fields of ever-increasing grade on into
the forest, sometimes pushed, sometimes pulled, al-
ways blocked on the steepest slopes by huge army
wagons deserted where they stuck, rasping cart-
loads of trench torpedoes on one side, crumbling the
edge of the ravine on the other, — day and night —
night and day — in snow and rain — and, far worse,
fog — months of foul and days of fair, — up with the
interminable caravans of ravitaillement, supplies with

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

which to sustain or blast the human body (we go
down with the human body once blasted), up past
small armies of Alsatian peasants of three generations
(rather two — octogenarians and children), forever
repairing, forever fighting the wear and tear of all that
passes, — up at last to the little log huts and rudely
made posies de secours at the mouth of the trench
"bowels," — a silent little world of tethered mules,
shrouded carts and hooded figures, lightless by night,
under the great pines where is a crude garage usually
filled with grenades into which one may back at one's
own discretion.

Day after day, night after night, wounded or no
wounded, the little ambulances plied with their soli-
tary drivers. Few men in ordinary autos or in ordi-
nary senses travel such roads by choice, but all that
is impossible is explained by a simple C'est la guerre.
Why else blindly force and scrape one's way past a
creaking truck of shells testing twenty horses, two
abreast, steaming in their own cloud of sweaty vapor,
thick as a Fundy fog? Taking perforce the outside,
the ravine side, the ambulance passes. More horses
and wagons ahead in the dark, another blinding mo-
ment or two, harnesses clash and rattle, side bolts and
lanterns are wiped from the car. It passes again;
C'est la guerre. Why else descend endless slopes with
every brake afire, with three or four human bodies as
they should not be, for cargo, where a broken drive-
shaft leaves but one instantaneous twist of the wheel
for salvation, a thrust straight into the bank, smash-

140

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1915

ing the car, but saving its precious load? C'est la
guerre.

The men in time grow tired as do the machines. A
week before Christmas they rested quietly in their
villages — a week of sun and splendid moon, spent
tuning up their motors and gears and jogging about
afoot after all their "rolling." A lull in the fighting,
and after three weeks of solid rain, nature smiles.
The Section had been ordered to leave shortly, and it
was only held for a long-expected attack which would
bring them all together for once on the mountains in
a last great effort with the Chasseurs Alpins and the
mountains they both loved.

On December 21st the mountain spoke and all the
cars rolled upwards to the poste of Hartmannsweiler-
kopf , — taken and retaken a score of times, — a bare,
brown, blunt, shell-ploughed top where before the
forest stood, up elbowing, buffeting, and tacking their
way through battalions of men and beasts, up by one
pass and down by another unmountable (for there is
no going back against the tide of what was battle-
bound) . From one mountain slope to another roared
all the lungs of war. For five days and five nights —
scraps of days, the shortest of the year, nights inter-
minable — the air was shredded with shrieking shells
— intermittent lulls for slaughter in attack after the
bombardment, then again the roar of the counter-
attack.

All this time, as in all the past months, Richard Nel-
ville Hall calmly drove his car up the winding, shell-

141

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

swept artery of the mountain of war, — past crazed
mules, broken-down artillery carts, swearing drivers,
stricken horses, wounded stragglers still able to hob-
ble,— past long convoys of Boche prisoners, silent,
descending in twos, guarded by a handful of men, —
past all the personnel of war, great and small (for
there is but one road, one road on which to travel, one
road for the enemy to shell), — past abris, bomb-
proofs, subterranean huts, to arrive at the postes de
secours, where silent men moved mysteriously in the
mist under the great trees, where the cars were
loaded with an ever-ready supply of still more quiet
figures (though some made sounds), mere bundles in
blankets. Hall saw to it that those quiet bundles were
carefully and rapidly installed, — right side up, for
instance, — for it is dark and the brancardiers are dull
folks, deadened by the dead they carry; then rolled
down into the valley below, where little towns bear
stolidly their daily burden of shells wantonly thrown
from somewhere in Bocheland over the mountain to
somewhere in France — the bleeding bodies in the
car a mere corpuscle in the full crimson stream, the
ever-rolling tide from the trenches to the hospital, of
the blood of life and the blood of death. Once there,
his wounded unloaded, Dick Hall filled his gasoline
tank and calmly rolled again on his way. Two of his
comrades had been wounded the day before, but Dick
Hall never faltered. He slept where and when he
could, in his car, at the poste, on the floor of our tem-
porary kitchen at Moosch — dry blankets — wet

142

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1915

blankets — blankets of mud — blankets of blood;
contagion was pedantry — microbes a myth.

At midnight Christmas Eve, he left the valley to
get his load of wounded for the last time. Alone,
ahead of him, two hours of lonely driving up the moun-
tain. Perhaps he was thinking of other Christmas
Eves, perhaps of his distant home, and of those who
were thinking of him.

Matter, the next American to pass, found him by
the roadside halfway up the mountain. His face was
calm and his hands still in position to grasp the wheel.
Matter, and Jennings, who came a little later, bore
him tenderly back in Matter's car to Moosch, where
his brother, Louis Hall, learned what had happened.

A shell had struck his car and killed him instantly,
painlessly. A chance shell in a thousand had struck
him at his post, in the morning of his youth.

Up on the mountain fog was hanging over Hart-
mann's Christmas morning, as if Heaven wished
certain things obscured. The trees were sodden with
dripping rain. Weather, sight, sound, and smell did
their all to sicken mankind, when news was brought
to us that Dick Hall had fallen on the Field of Honor.
No man said, "Merry Christmas," that day. No
man could have mouthed it. With the fog forever
closing in, with the mountain shaken by a double bom-
bardment as never before, we sat all day in the little
log hut by the stove, thinking first of Dick Hall, then

143

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

of Louis Hall, his brother, down in the valley. . . .
Gentlemen at home, you who tremble with concern
at overrun putts, who bristle at your partner's play
at auction, who grow hoarse at football games, know
that among you was one who played for greater goals
— the lives of other men. There in the small hours of
Christmas morning, where mountain fought moun-
tain, on that hard-bitten pass under the pines of the
Vosgian steeps, there fell a very modest and valiant
gentleman.

Dick Hall, we who knew you, worked with you,
played with you, ate with you, slept with you, we who
took pleasure in your company, in your modesty, in
your gentle manners, in your devotion and in your
youth — we still pass that spot, and we salute. Our
breath comes quicker, our eyes grow dimmer, we grip
the wheel a little tighter — we pass — better and
stronger men.

Richard Hall was buried with honors of war in the
Valley of Saint- Amarin, in the part of Alsace which
once more belongs to France. His grave, in a crowded
military cemetery, is next that of a French officer who
fell the same morning. It bears the brief inscription,
"Richard Hall, an American who died for France."
Simple mountain people in the only part of Germany
where foreign soldiers are to-day brought to the grave
many wreaths of native flowers and Christmas greens.
The funeral service was held in a little Protestant

144

RICHARD HALL

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1915

chapel, five miles down the valley. At the conclusion
of the service Hall's citation was read and the Cross
of War pinned on the coffin. On the way to the ceme-
tery sixteen soldiers, belonging to a battalion on leave
from the trenches, marched in file on each side with
arms reversed. The medecin chef spoke as follows : —

Messieurs — Camarades —

C'est un supreme hommage de reconnaissance et
d'affection que nous rendons, devant cette fosse
fraichement creusee, a ce jeune homme — je dirais
volontiers — cet enfant — tombe hier pour la France
sur les pentes de l'Hartmannsweilerkopf. . . . Ai-je
besoin de vous rappeler la douloureuse emotion que
nous avons tous ressentis en apprenant hier matin
que le conducteur Richard Hall, de la Section Sani-
taire Americaine N° 3, venait d'etre mortellement
frappe par un eclat d'obus, pres du poste de secours
de Thomannsplats ou il montait chercher des blesses?

A TAmbulance 3/58, ou nous eprouvons pour nos
camarades americains une sincere amitie basee sur des
mois de vie commune pendant laquelle il nous fut
permis d'apprecier leur endurance, leur courage, et
leur devouement, le conducteur Richard Hall etait
estime entre tous pour sa modestie, sa douceur, sa
complaisance.

A peine sorti de l'universite de Dartmouth, dans
la generosite de son cceur d'adolescent, ii apporta a
la France le precieux concours de sa charite en venant
relever, sur les champs de bataille d' Alsace, ceux

145

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

de nos vaillants soldats blesses en combattant pour la
patrie bien-aimee.

II est mort en "Chevalier de la Bienfaisance" —
en "Americain" — pour raccomplissement d'une
oeuvre de bonte et de charite chretienne!

Aux etres chers qu'il a laisses dans sa patrie, au
Michigan, a ses parents desoles, a son frere aine, qui,
au milieu de nous, montre une si stoique douleur, nos
hommages et l'expression de notre tristesse sont bien
sinceres et bien vifs!

Conducteur Richard Hall, vous allez reposer ici a
F ombre du drapeau tricolore, aupres de tous ces
vaillants dont vous etes Femule. . . . Vous faites a
juste titrepartiedeleurbataillonsacre! . . . Seul, votre
corps, glorieusement mutile, disparait — votre ame
est remonte trouver Dieu — votre souvenir, lui, reste
dans nos coeurs, imperissable! . . . Les Francais
n'oublient pas!

Conducteur Richard Hall — Adieu! *

1 [Translation]

" Messieurs — ■ Comrades: —

"We are here to offer our last, supreme homage of gratitude and affec-
tion, beside this freshly dug grave, to this young man — I might well
say, this boy — who fell yesterday, for France, on the slopes of Hart-
mannsweilerkopf. Do I need to recall the painful emotion that we all
felt when we learned yesterday morning that Driver Richard Hall, of the
American Sanitary Section N° 3, had been mortally wounded by the
bursting of a shell, near the dressing-station at Thomannsplats, where he
had gone to take up the wounded?

In Ambulance 3/58, where we cherish for our American comrades a
sincere affection based upon months of life in common, during which we
have had full opportunity to estimate truly their endurance, their cour-
age, and their devotion, Driver Richard Hall was regarded with peculiar
esteem for his modesty, his sweet disposition, his obligingness.

146

i— i

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1915

"Barely graduated from Dartmouth College, in the noble enthusiams
of his youth he brought to France the invaluable cooperation of his
charitable heart — coming hither to gather up on the battlefields of
Alsace those of our gallant troops who were wounded fighting for their
beloved country.

"He died like a 'Chevalier de la Bienfaisance,' like an American, while
engaged in a work of kindness and Christian charity!

"To the dear ones whom he has left in his own land, in Michigan, to
his grief-stricken parents, to his older brother who displays here among
us such stoicism in his grief, our respect and our expressions of sorrow
are most sincere and heartfelt.

"Driver Richard Hall, you are to be laid to rest here, in the shadow of
the tri-colored flag, beside all these brave fellows, whose gallantry you
have emulated. You are justly entitled to make one of their consecrated
battalion! Your body alone, gloriously mutilated, disappears; your soul
has ascended to God; your memory remains in our hearts — imperish-
able!— Frenchmen do not forget!

"Driver Richard Hall — farewell!"

XII

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

This chapter is made up of excerpts from letters and
diaries written by men in the Field Service, which, in
one way or another, have found their way into Mr.
Andrew's office. They are presented as a series of
snapshot views taken by men in the course of daily
work and no attempt has been made to weave them
into a connected narrative.

C^* Huo^ol.

Our Ambulances

A word about the structure of the small motor am-
bulances as perfected by our experience during the
war. Upon the chassis as received from the States is
built a strong, light ambulance body of tough wood
and canvas. The design provides for the utmost econ-

148

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

omy of space, and although the cubical contents are
perhaps not more than half of that of the body of an
ordinary ambulance of the kind constructed to carry
four stretchers, the typical cars of the American Am-
bulance can carry three. Two stretchers stand on the
floor of the car and the third is supported under the
roof by a simple and ingenious contrivance designed
by one of the Section leaders to meet the special needs
of the service. When not in use this mechanism folds
up and rests flat against the sides of the ambulance,
and with a couple of seats added, which can be fixed
in position immediately, the car is transformed in a
moment into an ambulance for four sitting cases. In
addition to these room has been found, by means of
specially constructed seats placed by the driver, for
three more sitters, making a total of three lying and
three sitting cases for each trip. In emergency as
many as ten wounded men have been carried at one
time, the inside of the car being crowded to its capac-
ity, and the foot-plates and mud-guards serving as
extra seats.

An ambulance loaded like this is an interesting sight.
The driver seems almost buried under his freight; he
has not an inch of room more than is necessary for the
control of his car. Covered with mud, blood-stained,
with startlingly white bandages against their tanned
skin; with puttees loose and torn, heavy boots, shape-
less uniforms gray from exposure, and with patient,
suffering faces still bearing the shock and horror of
bombardment, the wounded roll slowly from the postes

149

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

de secours to shelter and care, shivering, maybe, in the
cold and grayness of dawn, but always with a hand
to help each other and a word of thanks to the driver.

A. P. A.

CM 44var

How the Cars reach Paris

Towards the end of February three of us went down
to Havre to unpack eight cars which had just arrived.
In three days the work was done, and as I was one of
the first drivers to get to work, I was able to choose
the car I liked best for the trip down to Paris. Un-
fortunately it rained steadily during our passage
through Normandy, so that we could not appreciate
to the full one of the most beautiful countries in the
world. After spending the night in Rouen, we set out
for Paris, which was reached in good time, my only
mishap being a puncture.

150

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

In Paris I drove the little car, with its soap-box
body, as a light delivery wagon to do odd jobs in
town, to give driving lessons, to carry fellows going to
the front as far as the station, and other similar tasks,
for some two weeks, when it went to the carriage-
builders. As it happened, this particular carrossier,
who had not been employed by the American Ambu-
lance before, turned out the best and strongest bodies
for the five cars I was interested in, among which was
the one presented by St. Paul's School.

Henry M. Suckley

En route for the Front

It appeals to the French people that so many Amer-
icans are standing by them in their tragic hours. The
little that we in America have actually done seems
small, indeed, compared with the size of the situation,

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

but its main object and its main effect are to show to
the people of France that we believe in them and in
the justice of their cause; that we still remember what
they did for us in the darkest hour of our own his-
tory; and that, as members of a great sister Repub-
lic, our hearts and hopes are with them in this most
unnecessary war. All day long, wherever we have
stopped, people have come out and offered us flow-
ers and fruit and food and friendly greetings, very
much as our ancestors of a hundred and forty years
ago must have offered them to the compatriots of
Lafayette.

Our trip has been full of touching and appealing
impressions crowding one upon the other. As our
picturesque convoy ran through the little villages,
and we stopped here and there for some one to clean
a spark-plug or mend a tire, children crowded around
us, and asked questions about America, and we often
got them to sing the "Marseillaise" or some of the
topical songs of the moment about " Guillaume" and
the "Boches" (people in France seldom speak of the
Germans as such, they call them simply "Boches"
which seems to mean " brutal, stupid people ") . After
a long, hard drive we reached Saint-Omer about
eleven. The hotels were full, the restaurants were
closed, and no provision had been made either for our
food or our lodging. So we wheeled into the public
square and slept on the stretchers in our ambulances
— without other food than the chocolate and crack-
ers we had in our pockets. All day yesterday, as we

152

a
o

P-i £

W
Ph

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

ran past the quaint towns and villages, we could hear
the great cannon on the front booming like distant
thunder. It is hard to realize that for five hundred
and more miles these cannon are booming day after
day all day long, and often throughout the night.

A. P. A.

(^ Hw»£^.

First Impressions

After a few more short delays (inseparable from
times and states of war), the Section at last found
itself within a mile of one of the most stubbornly con-
tested points of the line. In a little town not far from
the front they came in swift progression into hard
work, bombardment, and appreciation by the army.

Pont-a-Mousson is in a district in which low hills,
many of them covered with thick woods, lie along the
valley of the Moselle. Down towards the river, on

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

both banks and at right angles to it, stretch the inter-
minable lines of trenches, east and west; batteries of
guns crown the adjacent hills for two or three miles
back from the trenches, alike in the enemy's country
and that of the French; and intermittently, day and
night, these batteries defy and seek to destroy each
other, the valleys echoing with the roar of their guns
and the sharp scream of shells high overhead. Back
of the trenches for several miles every village is full
of soldiers resting or in reserve; the roads are filled
with marching troops, horses, mule trains, baggage
wagons, guns and ammunition carts. At every cross-
road stand sentries with bayonets. After sunset the
whole country is dark, no lights being permitted, but
the roads are more crowded than by day, as it is under
cover of night that troops and guns are generally
moved. The whole country near to the active lines is
one great theatre of war. Everywhere are sights and
sounds forbidding a moment's forgetfulness of the
fact. Yet — and it is one of the most curious and
touching things one sees — the peasant life goes on
but little changed. Old men dig in their gardens,
women gather and sell their vegetables, girls stand
in the evenings at their cottage doors, children run
about and play in the streets. Often, not more than
two miles away, a desperate attack may be in pro-
gress. Between the concussions of the cannon throw-
ing their missiles from the hills over the village can be
heard the rattle of rifle-fire and the dull pop-pop-pop
of the mitrailleuses. In an hour or two, scores, maybe

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hundreds, of wounded men, or lines of prisoners, will
file through the village, and at any moment shells
may burst over the street, killing soldiers or women
indifferently, but the old man still digs in his garden,
the girl still gossips at the door.

J. Halcott Glover

The Daily Programme

About 6 o'clock those sleeping at the caserne get up
and dress, rolling up their blanket-rolls, and coming
into the dining-room for coffee at about 6.30. To-
wards 7, the men who have slept at the different
postes arrive. After coffee, ambulances which are to
be stationed elsewhere for service as required, leave
the caserne. Men on day duty see to their cars and
await calls by telephone which are received by our
French assistant. Particulars are entered by him
upon a printed slip and given to the driver next in
turn to go out. On the driver's return, this slip is
handed in with the number of wounded carried and
the figures are entered in our record book. At 11
o'clock everybody comes in for dejeuner. The dining-
room — a large apartment capable of holding three
times our number — has been pleasantly decorated
with festoons and flags by our orderly, Mignot. The
afternoon is taken up in evacuating wounded to
Belleville, bringing in fresh wounded as required, or,
in slack moments, in reading, writing, or sleeping.
We have a little garden and easy-chairs, and, consid-

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ering the state of war and the very close proximity of
the enemy, it is remarkable that we should have so
many luxuries. At 6 we have dinner, after which men
who are to sleep at Dieulouard go off for the night.
By 9 the rest of us have generally turned in. One car
every night waits at Montauville, and, should there
be too many wounded for one car to convey, as many
more are as required are summoned by telephone.
During severe attacks, all cars may be called for: in
which case one man is appointed to take charge of ar-
rivals and despatches at Montauville, leaving drivers
free to come and go with as little delay as possible.

J. H. G.

Handling the Wounded

The wounded are brought by the army brancardiers
direct from the trenches to one or other of the postes
de secours established in the villages behind the
trenches and are carried on stretchers slung between
two wheels. Two men convey them. They usually
come two or three kilometres over rough tracks or
open fields from the lines where they fell. The work
of the brancardiers is exhausting and dangerous, and
enough cannot be said in their praise. This war being
one of barbarous weapons, the condition of the
wounded is often terrible. Shells, shrapnel, hand-
grenades, and mines account for most of the injuries,
and these are seldom clean wounds and often very
serious. The wounded arrive, after rough dressing on

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the field, sometimes so covered with blood and dirt
as to be unrecognizable. Often they are unconscious,
and not unfrequently they die before adequate help
can be got. One hears few utterances of pain, and
no complaints. Stretchers are carried into the poste
de secoursf where a doctor examines the wound and
re-dresses it if necessary; the blesse is then brought out
and given to us. Our cars can carry three stretcher
cases or five or six sitting; only the most seriously
injured can be allowed the luxury of lying down.
Our business then is to convey them gently, and as
fast as is consistent with gentleness, to hospitals.
Here the wounded receive further treatment; or, if
their case is hopeless, are allowed peacefully to die.
The following day, or perhaps several days after-
wards, if the wounded man is not fit to travel, he
comes into our hands again, to be carried to the
trains sanitaires for evacuation to one of the many
hospitals throughout France.

J. H. G.

The Wounded

One would like to say a little about the wounded
men, of whom we have, by this time, seen some thou-
sands. But it is difficult to separate one's impressions :
the wounded come so fast and in such numbers, and
one is so closely concerned with the mechanical part
of their transportation, that very soon one ceases to
have many human emotions concerning them. And

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there is a pitiful sameness in their appearance. They
are divided, of course, into the two main classes of
"sitting" and "lying." Many of the former have
come down on foot from the trenches; one sees them
arrive in the street at Montauville looking round —
perhaps a little lost — for the poste de secours ap-
pointed for this particular regiment or company.
Sometimes they help one another; often they walk
with an arm thrown round some friendly shoulder.
I have seen men come in, where I have stood waiting
in the poste de secours, and throw themselves down ex-
hausted, with blood trickling from their loose bandages
into the straw. They have all the mud and sunburn
of their trench life upon them — a bundle of heavy,
shapeless clothes — always the faded blue of their
current uniform — and a pair of hobnailed boots, very
expressive of fatigue. They smell of sweat, camp-fire
smoke, leather, and tobacco — all the same, whether
the man be a peasant or a professor of mathematics.
Sometimes, perhaps from loss of blood, or nervous
shock, their teeth chatter. They are all very subdued
in manner. One is struck by their apparent freedom
from pain. With the severely wounded, brought in
on stretchers, it is occasionally otherwise. If it is
difficult to differentiate between man and man among
the "sitting" cases, it is still more so with the "ly-
ing." Here there is a blood-stained shape under a
coat or a blanket, a glimpse of waxy skin, a mass of
bandage. When the uniform is gray, men say
"Boche" and draw round to look. Then one sees the

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closely cropped bullet head of the German. One
might describe the ghastliness of wounds, but enough
has been said. At first, they cause a shudder, and I
have had gusts of anger at the monstrous folly in man
that results in such senseless suffering, but very
soon the fatalism which is a prevailing tone of men's
thoughts in this war dulls one's perceptions. It is just
another blesse — the word " gravement" spoken by
the infirmier, as they bring him out to the ambu-
lance, carries only the idea of a little extra care in
driving. The last we see of them is at the hospital.
At night we have to wake up the men on duty there.
The stretcher is brought into the dimly lighted, close-
smelling room where the wounded are received, and
laid down on the floor. In the hopeless cases there
follows the last phase. The man is carried out and
lies, with others like himself, apart from human inter-
est till death claims him. Then a plaim unpainted
coffin, the priest, a little procession, a few curious
eyes, the salute, and the end. His grave, marked by a
small wooden cross on which his name and grade are
written, lies unnoticed, the type of thousands, by the
roadside or away among the fields. Everywhere in
the war zone one passes these graves. A great belt
of them runs from Switzerland to the sea across
France and Belgium. There are few people living in
Europe who have not known one or more of the men
who lie within it.

J. H, G.

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Night Duty

A few days after our arrival at the front I had my
first experience of a night call. It was very dark and
we had to feel our way forward. Nothing gives one a
stronger sense of the nearness of war than such a trip.
The dark houses, deserted streets, the dim shape of
the sentry at the end of the town, the night scents of
the fields as one passes slowly along them, are things
not to be forgotten. We strained our eyes in the dark-
ness to avoid other vehicles, all, like our own, going
without lights. In those days, not being so well known
as we are now, the sentries challenged us : their "Halte-
la" in the darkness brought us frequently to an
abrupt stop. As we drew near the trenches we heard
the guns very clearly, and saw over the crest of a hill
the illuminating rockets with which both armies
throw a glare over their attacks. They throw a green-
ish and ghastly light over the country, hanging in the
air a few seconds before falling. At our destination
everything was dark. We left the cars in the road and
went up under the trees to the poste de secours. Here
we found some men sleeping on straw, but had to
wait close upon two hours before our wounded were
ready. From time to time a battery of 75 's startled us
in the woods near by. At last in a drizzling rain we
came back to quarters, passing several small bodies
of soldiers marching silently up to the trenches.
Another night, remaining near the trenches till half-
past four in the morning, I saw the wounded brought
in, in the gray of dawn, from a series of attacks and

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counter-attacks. I had been waiting in one of the
posies de secours, where, by candlelight, particulars
were being written down of the various wounded.
The surgeon, in a long white linen coat, in many
places stained with blood, was busy with his scissors.
Many wounded lay on straw round the room, and at
rare intervals one heard a groan. The air was warm
and heavy, full of the smell of wounds and iodine. A
window was opened, the light of morning making the
candles dim and smoky, and it was pleasant to go out
into the cool air. The wounded being brought in
looked cold and wretched. There were many who had
been hit in the face or head — more than one was
blind.

I overheard a few words spoken between a bran-
cardier and a wounded man who — rare sign of suffer-
ing— was weeping. "You will be safe now — you
are going to your wife," spoken in tones of sympathy
for comfort, and the reply: "No, no, I am dying. "...
Later, as the sun was rising and lifting the blue mist
in the hollows of the hill, I watched some shells burst-
ing in a field; a brown splash of earth, a ball of smoke
which drifted slowly away.

J. H. G.

Fitting into the Life

During the months of May, June, and July the
Section, increased in number to twenty cars, broke all
records of the American Ambulance. The work was

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so organized and men brought such devotion to their
duties that it may be said that, of all the wounded
brought down from daily and nightly righting, not one
was kept waiting so much as ten minutes for an am-
bulance to take him to the hospital.

Where, before the coming of the American cars,
ambulances came up to the postes de secours only
when called, and at night came after a delay occa-
sioned by waking a driver sleeping some miles away,
who thereupon drove his car to the place where he was
needed, the American Section established a service on
the spot, so that the waiting was done by the driver
of the ambulance and not by the wounded. The
effect of this service was immediate in winning confi-
dence and liking, of which the members of the Sec-
tion were justly proud. Their swift, light, easy-run-
ning cars were a great improvement on the old and
clumsy ambulances which had served before them.
In the early days, when these old ambulances were
working side by side with ours, wounded men being
brought from the trenches would ask to be carried by
the Americans. That the latter should have come so
far to help them, should be so willing to lose sleep and
food that they should be saved from pain, and should
take the daily risks of the soldiers without necessity
or recompense seemed to touch them greatly. It was
not long before the words "Ambulance AmSricaine"
would pass a man by any sentry post. The mot, or
password, was never demanded. And in their times of
leisure, when others were on duty, men could eat with

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the soldiers in their popotes and become their friends.
Many of them have become known and welcomed in
places miles apart and have formed friendships which
will last long after the war.

J. H. G.

Paysages de Guerre

I went early one morning with one of our men, by
invitation of an engineer whose acquaintance we had
made, up to the part of the Bois-le-Pretre known as
the Quart-en-Reserve. We started at three, march-
ing up with a party going up to identify and bury the
dead. The sites of all the trenches, fought over during
the winter, were passed on the way, and we went
through several encampments where soldiers were
still sleeping, made of little log houses and dug-outs,
such as the most primitive men lived in. It was a
gray morning, with a nip in the air; the fresh scents of
the earth and the young green were stained with the
smoke of the wood fires and the mixed smells of a
camp. After a spell of dry weather, the rough tracks
we followed in our course through the wood were pas-
sable enough; the deep ruts remaining and here and
there a piece of soft ground gave us some idea of the
mud through which the soldiers must have labored a
few weeks before. And it is by such tracks that the
wounded are brought down from the trenches ! Small
wonder that when the stretcher is laid down its occu-
pant is occasionally found to be dead. In about half

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an hour, nearing the top of the hill which the Bois-le-
Pretre covers, we noticed a change both in the scene
and in the air. The leafage was thinner, and there
was a look, not very definable yet, of blight. The
path we were following sank deeper, and became a
trench. For some hundreds of yards we walked in
single file, seeing nothing but the narrow ditch wind-
ing before us, and bushes and trees overhead. With
every step our boots grew heavier with thick, sticky
mud. And a faint perception of unpleasant smells
which had been with us for some minutes became a
thing which had to be fought against. Suddenly the
walls of our trench ended, and in front of us was an
amazing confusion of smashed trees, piles of earth
and rock — as though some giant had passed that
way, idly kicking up the ground for his amusement.
We climbed out of the remains of our trench and
looked round. One had read, in official reports of the
war, of situations being "prepared" by artillery for
attack. We saw before us what that preparation
means. An enlarged photograph of the mountains on
the moon gives some idea of the appearance of shell-
holes. Little wonder that attacks are usually success-
ful: the wonder is that any of the defenders are left
alive. The difficulty is to hold the position when cap-
tured, for the enemy can and does turn the tables.
Here lies the whole of the slow torture of this war
since the open fighting of last year — a war of ex-
haustion which must already have cost, counting all
sides, more than a million lives. The scene we looked

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round upon might be fittingly described by the Bibli-
cal words "abomination of desolation." Down in the
woods we had come through, the trees were lovely
with spring, and early wild flowers peeped prettily
from between the rocks. Here it was still winter — a
monstrous winter where the winds were gunpowder
and the rain bullets. Trees were stripped of their
smaller branches, of their bark : there was scarcely a
leaf. And before us lay the dead. One of the horrible
features in this war, in which there is no armistice,
and the Red Cross is fired upon as a matter of course,
is that it is often impossible to bury the dead till long
after they are fallen. Only when a disputed piece of
ground has at last been captured, and the enemy is
driven well back, can burial take place. It is then that
companies of men are sent out to pick up and identify.
Of all the tasks forced upon men by war, this must be
the worst. Enough to say that the bodies, which were
laid in rows on the ground awaiting their turn to rest
in the sweetness of the earth, were those of men who
fought close on two months before. I pass over the
details of this awful spectacle, leaving only two things :
one of a ghastly incongruity, the other very moving.
Out of a pocket of a cadavre near to me I saw protrud-
ing a common picture post-card, a thing of tinsel,
strange possession for one passed into the ages. And
between two bodies, a poppy startlingly vivid, mak-
ing yet blacker the blackened shapes before us. . . .

J. H. (j.

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Soldier Life

The main street of Montauville gives, perhaps, a
characteristic glimpse of the life of the soldier on
active service, who is not actually taking his turn in
the trenches. He is under the shade of every wall;
lounges in every doorway, stands in groups talking
and laughing. His hands and face and neck are
brown with exposure, his heavy boots, baggy trous-
ers, and rough coat are stained with mud from bad
weather. He laughs easily, is interested in any trifle,
but underneath his surface gayety one may see the
fatigue, the bored, the cynical indifference caused by
a year of war, torn from every human relationship.
What can be done to humanize his lot, he does with
great skill. He can cook. Every cottage is full of sol-
diers, and through open doors and windows one sees
them eating and drinking, talking, playing cards, and
sometimes, though rarely, they sing. In the evening
they stand in the street in great numbers, and what
with that, the difficulty of making ears accustomed to
shrapnel take the sound of a motor horn seriously,
and the trains of baggage wagons, ammunition for
the guns, carts loaded with hay, etc., it is not too easy
to thread one's way along. In our early days here
curiosity as to who and what we were added to the
difficulty, crowds surrounding us whenever we ap-
peared, but by this time they are used to us, and not
more than a dozen at once want to come and talk and
shake hands.

Perhaps the most interesting time to see Montau-

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ville is when, after a successful attack by the French,
the German prisoners are marched through the vil-
lage. These, of course, without weapons and with
hands hanging empty, walk with a dogged step be-
tween guards with fixed bayonets, and as they pass,
all crowd near to see them. Almost invariably the
prisoners are bareheaded, having lost their caps —
these being greatly valued souvenirs — on their way
down from the trenches. They are housed tempo-
rarily, for interrogation, in a schoolhouse in the main
street, and when they are lined up in the school-yard
there is a large crowd of French soldiers looking at
them through the railings. Afterwards, they may be
seen in villages behind the lines, fixing the roads, or
doing similar work, in any old hats or caps charity
may have bestowed upon them.

J. H. G.

July 22 at Pont-a-Mousson

On Thursday, the 22d, we had a quiet day. In the
evening several of us stepped across to the house
where Smith and Ogilvie lived, to have a little bread
and cheese before turning in. They had brought some
fresh bread and butter from Toul, where duty had
taken one of them, and these being our special luxu-
ries, we were having a good time. Coiquaud was at
the Bureau and two or three of our men were in or
about the caserne. There were nine of us at the house
at the fork of the road, which, no doubt, you remem-
ber. Suddenly as we sat round the table there came

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the shriek of a shell and a tremendous explosion. The
windows were blown in, the table thrown over, and
all of us for a second were in a heap on the floor. The
room was full of smoke and dust. None of us was hurt,
happily, except Holt, who had a cut over the right
eye, and who is now going about bandaged like one of
our blessSs. We made a scramble for the cellar, the
entrance to which is in a courtyard behind the house.
As we were going down the stairs there followed an-
other shell, and quickly on top of that, one or two
more, all very near and pretty heavy. We stayed in
the cellar perhaps ten minutes, and then, as I was
anxious to know how things were at the caserne, I
went up and, letting myself out into the street, ran
for it, seeing vaguely as I passed fallen masonry and
dSbris. The moon was shining through the dust and
smoke which still hung a little thick. When I got to
the caserne, the first thing I heard was Coiquaud cry-
ing, "Oh! pauvre Mignot!'9 and I was told that the
poor fellow had been standing, as was his wont,
in the street, smoking a pipe before going to bed. He
was chatting with two women. Lieutenant Kull-
mann's orderly (I think they call him Grassetie) was
not far away. The same shell which blew in our win-
dows killed Mignot and the two women, and severely
wounded Grassetie, who, however, was able to walk
to the caserne to seek help. He was bleeding a good
deal from several wounds; had one arm broken; his
tongue was partially severed by a fragment which
went through his cheek. He was taken immediately,

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after a rough bandage or two had been put on, to try to
check the loss of blood from his arm, where an artery
appeared to be severed, to Ambulance N° 3 at Pont-
a-Mousson, whence he was afterwards taken to Dieu-
louard and to Toul. He will probably recover.1 A boy,
the son of our blanchisseuse, who was wounded at the
same time, will, it is feared, die. As I was told that
Mignot still lay in the street, I went out again, and
saw him lying, being examined by gendarmes, on the
pavement. He seems to have been killed instantane-
ously. The contents of his pockets and his ring were
taken from the body by Coiquaud and handed to me:
they will, of course, be sent to his wife. He leaves two
children. . . . Poor Coiquaud, who had shown great
courage, became a little hysterical, and I took his
arm and led him back to the caserne. When we all,
except those who had left with Grassetie and some
who had taken Mignot's body to Ambulance N° 3
(there was such confusion at the time and I have
been so constantly occupied since I don't yet know
exactly who took that service), collected at the
Bureau, our jubilation at our own escape — if the
shell had travelled three yards farther it would have
killed us all — was entirely silenced by the death of
Mignot, for whom we all had a great affection. He
served us well, cheerfully from the beginning, hon-
estly and indefatigably. He was a good fellow, pos-
sessing the fine qualities of the French workman to a
very high degree. A renewed bombardment broke

1 He died soon after.

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out about this time, and we went down to the cellar.
A shell striking the roof of one of our houses knocked
in all our windows. I think we may all honestly con-
fess that by this time our nerves were rather shaken.
I was specially anxious about the cars in the barn,
including the Pierce- Arrow and the Hotchkiss. One
shell falling in the midst of them would have crippled
half our cars — and if an attack on Bois-le-Pretre
had followed . . . ! Our telephone wires were broken,
so we were isolated. Lieutenant Kullmann and I de-
cided, after consultation with all our men who were
present, to report the situation to the midecin
divisionnaire. So long as our men kept in the cellar
they were safe enough. The Lieutenant and I left
in the Peugeot brought by him to the Section, our
leaving chancing to coincide with the arrival of four
or five fresh shells. It was nervous work driving out;
fragments of tiles and of shells — the latter still red-
hot — fell about us but without hitting us. After
seeing the mSdecin divisionnaire we returned to the
caserne and spent the rest of the darkness in the cel-
lar. From time to time more shells came, but soon
after daybreak the firing ceased.

In the morning we were very anxious for a while
about Ogilvie. He had, unknown to the rest of us,
gone to sleep at Schroder's and Buswell's room, and
in the night two more shells struck his house, one of
them penetrating right through to the cellar, making
complete wreckage there. Some of us spent a little
time looking in the debris for his body.

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You would have been very moved if you could
have been present at poor Mignot's funeral. We did
what we could for him to show our respect, and I con-
cluded I was only carrying out what would be the
wishes of the American Ambulance by authorizing
the expense of a better coffin and cross than he was
entitled to in his grade in the army.

At eight in the evening as many men as were off
duty went to Pont-a-Mousson to attend the funeral.
A short service was read in the chapel of the Nativite.
There were four coffins : Mignot's, covered with a flag
and with many flowers, and those of three civilians,
killed on the same evening. It was a simple and im-
pressive ceremony : the dimly lighted chapel, the dark
forms of some twenty or thirty people of Pont-a-
Mousson, our men together on one side, the sonorous
voice of the priest, made a scene which none of us can
forget. Colonel de Nansouty, Commandant d'Armes
de Pont-a-Mousson, and Lieutenant Bayet were
present; and when the little procession was formed
and we followed the dead through the darkened
streets and across the Place Duroc, they walked bare-
headed with us. At the bridge the procession halted,
and all but Lieutenant Bayet, Coiquaud, Schroder,
and the writer turned back, it being desired by the
authorities that only a few should go to the cemetery.
We crossed the river and mounted the lower slope of
the Mousson hill. Under the trees in the cemetery
we saw as we passed the shattered tombs and broken
graves left from the bombardments, which even here

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have made their terrible marks. In a far corner, well
up on the hillside, the coffin of Mignot was laid down,
to be interred in the early morning. We walked quietly
back in company with Lieutenant Bayet, and were at
last free to rest, after so many hours of unbroken
strain.

J. H. G.

Incidents of a Driver's Life

On the 3d of May N° 6 went back on me for the
first time. I was returning from Toul when the car
broke down in half a dozen different places at once. I
could not fix it, but would have reached Dieulouard
on three cylinders if it had not been for a steep hill.
Twice N° 6 nearly reached the top, only to die with a
hard cough and slide to the bottom again. On ac-
count of this hill I was forced to walk fourteen kilo-
metres to Dieulouard for help. The next night I had

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my first experience at night driving. A call came in
at half-past nine to get one wounded man at Clos
Bois. McConnell, driver of N° 7, went with me. We
neither of us had ever been there, so it was somewhat
a case of the blind leading the blind. It made little
difference, however, as the night was so black that
nothing but an owl could have seen his own nose. We
felt our way along helped by a distant thunderstorm,
the flicker of cannon, and the bursting of illuminating
rockets, picked up our wounded man, and were re-
turning through Montauville when we were stopped
by an officer. He had a wounded man who was dying,
the man was a native of Dieulouard and wished to die
there, and the officer asked us to carry him there if the
doctor at Pont-a-Mousson would give us permission.
We took him. He had been shot through the head.
Why he lived at all I do not know, but he not only
lived, but struggled so hard that they had to strap
him to the stretcher. When the doctor at the hospital
saw him, he refused to let us carry him to Dieulouard
because the trip would surely kill him and he might
live if left at the hospital. Whether he did live or die
I was never able to find out.

Carlyle H. Holt

Our life here is one of high lights. The transition
from the absolute quiet and tranquillity of peace to
the rush and roar of war takes but an instant and all
our impressions are kaleidoscopic in number and con-
trast. The only way to give an impression of what

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takes place before us would be a series of pictures, and
the only way I can do it is to describe a few incidents.
Sometimes we sit in the little garden behind our ca-
serne in the evening, comfortably drinking beer and
smoking or talking and watching the flash of cannon
which are so far away we cannot hear the report. At
such times, the war is remote and does not touch us.
At other times, at a perfectly appointed dinner-table,
laden with fresh strawberries, delicious cakes, and
fine wine, and graced with the presence of a charming
hostess, the war is still more distant. Pont-a-Mous-
son, moreover, is rich in beautifully conceived gar-
dens of pleasant shade trees, lovely flowers, and tink-
ling fountains. Lounging in such a place, with a book
or the latest mail from America, the war is entirely
forgotten. Yet we may leave a spot like that and im-
mediately be in the midst of the realities of war. One
evening, about seven-thirty, after the Germans had
been firing on Pont-a-Mousson and the neighboring
villages for some hours, I was called to Bozeville.
This village, which is on the road to Montauville,is a
small cluster of one-story brick and frame buildings
constructed in 1870 by the Germans for their soldiers.
When I reached this place it was on fire, and the Ger-
mans, by a constant fusillade of shrapnel shells in and
around the buildings and on the roads near them,
were preventing any attempt being made to extin-
guish the fire. To drive up the narrow road, with the
burning houses on one side and a high garden wall,
thank Heaven, on the other, hearing every few sec-

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onds the swish-bang of the shells, was decidedly nerv-
ous work, anything but peaceful. After picking up
the wounded, I returned to Pont-a-Mousson, where
conditions were much worse. At this time the Ger-
mans were throwing shells of large calibre at the
bridge over the Moselle. To reach the hospital to
which I was bound, it was necessary to take the road
which led to the bridge and turn to the left about a
hundred yards before coming to it. Just as I was
about to make this turn, two shells struck and ex-
ploded in the river under the bridge. There was a
terrific roar and two huge columns of water rose into
the air, and seemed to stand there for some seconds;
the next instant, spray and bits of wood and shell fell
on us and around us. A minute later I turned into the
hospital yard, where the effect, in the uncertain and
fast-fading light, was ghostly. Earlier in the evening
a shell had exploded in the yard and had thrown an
even layer of fine, powder-like dust over everything.
It resembled a shroud in effect, for nothing disturbed
its even surface except the crater-like hole made by
the shell. On one side of the yard was the hospital,
every window broken and its walls scarred by the
pieces of shells; in the middle was the shell-hole, and
on the other side was the body of a dead hrancardier,
lying on his back with a blanket thrown over him. He
gave a particularly ghastly effect to the scene, for
what was left of the daylight was just sufficient to
gleam upon his bald forehead and throw into relief a
thin streak of blood which ran across his head to the

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ground. Needless to say I left that place as quickly
as possible.

Another scene which I do not think I will soon for-
get happened in Montauville. It was just after a suc-
cessful French attack and shows war in a little differ-
ent light, with more of the excitement and glory
which are supposed to be attached to battle. Montau-
ville is a straggly little village of one- and two-story
stone and plaster houses built on the two sides of the
road. It is situated on a saddle which connects one
large hill on one side of it with another large hill on
the other side of it. It is used as a depot and resting-
place for the troops near it. On this particular day
the French had attacked and finally taken a position
which they wanted badly, and at this time, just after
sunset, the battle had ceased and the wounded were
being brought into the poste de secours. The tints of
the western sky faded away to a cloudless blue heaven,
marked here and there by a tiny star. To the south
an aeroplane was circling like a huge hawk with puffs
of orange-tinted shrapnel smoke on all sides of it. In
the village the soldiers were all in the streets or hang-
ing out of the windows shouting to one another. The
spirits of every one were high. They well might be,
for the French had obtained an advantage over the
Germans and had succeeded in holding it. A French
sergeant entered the town at the lower end and
walked up the street. At first no one noticed him;
then a slight cheer began. Before the man had walked
a hundred yards, the soldiers had formed a lane

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through which he strode. He was a big fellow, his
face smeared with blood and dirt and his left arm
held in a bloody sling. On his head was a German
helmet with its glinting brass point and eagle. He
swaggered nearly the entire length of the village
through the shouting lines of soldiers, gesticulating
with his one well arm and giving as he went a lively
account of what happened. Some one started the
"Marseillaise" and in a few minutes they were all
singing. I have heard football crowds sing after a
victory and I have heard other crowds sing songs, but
I have never heard a song of such wild exultation as
that one. It was tremendous. I wish the Germans
could have heard it. Perhaps they did! They were
not so far away, and the sound seemed to linger and
echo among the hills for some minutes after the last
note had been sung.

Our work here on this sector of the front is about
three kilometres in length. We do it all, as there are
no French ambulances here. We usually carry in a
week about eighteen hundred wounded men and our
mileage is always around five thousand miles. The
authorities seem to be pleased with our work and we
know that they have never called for a car and had to
wait for it. At any rate, we have had the satisfaction
of doing the best we could.

C. H. H.

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C*~_1+-W/>j4_

Three Croix de Guerre

Several bombardments have taken place near the
first-aid posts and hospitals where our cars are on
duty. On the 6th, the Germans bombarded a road
that runs along the top of a ridge several hundred
yards from the post at Huss. One of the first shells
landed on a farmhouse just below the road, in which
some Territorials were quartered, killing three of
them and wounding five others. Two of our men, ac-
companied by the midecin auxiliaire of the post, im-
mediately drove their cars over to the farm and res-
cued the wounded while the bombardment was still
going on. As a result of this prompt and courageous
action on their part, all three men were cited in the
order of the division and will receive the Croix de
Guerre.

P. L.

178

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H
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THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

C* fti^re

From Day /o Day

October 26. The head of the Sanitary Service of the
French Government, accompanied by three generals,
made a tour of inspection of all the units in this Sec-
tor to-day. Mr. L , accompanied by Lieutenant

K , went to B , where a formal inspection was

held. Mr. L was thanked as Section Commander

for the service rendered by Section Sanitaire Ameri-
caine N° 2. The remarks were exceedingly compli-
mentary. General L and the midecin division-

naire, who accompanied the party as representatives
of the Sanitary Service in this Sector, added their
compliments to those of General L .

November 14. We had the first snow of the season
to-day. All the morning it snowed and covered the
fields and trees with a thick coating of white. In

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

the roads it melted and they became stretches of
yellow slush.

B broke his arm cranking his car this morning.

He will be out of commission for three weeks, so the
surgeon who set it informed him.

November 16. We received a phone message in
the morning asking us to go to the " Mairie" to meet
a high official. Four of us went over. A number of

large cars were drawn up in the Place D . One

bore the flag of the President of France. We were to
meet Poincare. We formed a line inside the sandbag
barricaded arcade. The President and his entourage
passed. He stopped in front of us. "One finds you
everywhere," he said; "you are very devoted/'
Then he shook hands with each of us and passed on.
We wandered on down the arcade to watch the party
go down into the shelled area of the town. A sentry
standing near us entered into conversation. He ad-
dressed himself to Pottle: "Did he shake hands with
you?" he asked. "Oh, yes," replied Pottle. "Hell,"
said the sentry; "he is n't a bit proud, is he?':

November 25. Thanksgiving — and we celebrated
it in the American style. We had purchased and

guarded the turkeys, and they were prime. C

did wonders with the army food, and it is doubtful
if any finer Thanksgiving dinner was eaten any place
in the world than the one we enjoyed two thousand
yards from the Huns.

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November 26. An enemy plane, flying high above
us this morning, was forced to make a sudden descent
to a height of three hundred metres from earth. He
was either touched by shrapnel or his mixture froze
and he had to seek a new level. He passed very low
over us. One of the Frenchmen attached to our Sec-
tion fired at him with a rifle, but did not get him.

November 30. B was shelled and a few stray

shots were sent into town and on the troop roads near
us.

Under S the meals have been sumptuous re-
pasts and we marvel at the change.

The writer, with two others of the Section, was

crossing the Place after dark. As we passed the

breach in the sandbag barricaded roads made by

Rue , we were lighted up by the yellow glare

coming from the shops next to the "Maine." The
sentry thereon duty saw us. "Pass along, my chil-
dren, and good luck — you are more devoted than we
are," he cried to us.

I was startled by the voice out of the darkness and
the surprising remarks. I glanced towards the sen-
try's post, but the light blinded me and I could not
see him. From his voice I knew he was old — one of
the aged Territorials.

"Oh, no!" I answered, for lack of anything better
to say.

"Yes, you are. We all thank you. You are very
devoted," he said.

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

"No, not that, but I thank you," I said; and we
were swallowed up in the darkness. Then I was sorry
one of us had n't gone back to shake hands with the
kind-hearted old fellow. It seemed to me that it was
the spirit of France speaking through him, voicing as
usual her appreciation for any well-intentioned aid,
and that we should have replied a little more formally.

James H. McConnell

From Another Diary

November 13. A bad number and a grim day for
168. At daybreak one blessS, one malade, to Moosch.
Brake loose as an empty soap-bubble. Endless con-
voy of mules appeared at bottom of hill. Tail-enders
received me sideways or full breach — could n't stop
— did n't think to put on reverse, so did some old-
fashioned line-plunging. Heard cases crack, men

182

A WINTER MORNING

ALSATIAN WOODS IN WINTER

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

swear, mules neigh, but heard no brake taking hold.
Tried to stop later, but only succeeded in doing so by
dragging against bank, which was so straight car
rubbed along like an old elephant scratching its cut-
lets, and padlocks, keys, tools, side-boxes removed
like flies. Incidentally a young army on the way up
the hill — a few casualties if I had not stopped.
Tornado of rain. A big tree had fallen across the road
this morning — just got under it — had been chopped
down on the way back. Nothing doing since, but
frightful weather — good chance to write in diary

— most devilish wind in p.m. Walked over to Bain-
Douches in the evening to see Hartmann's by night
by star bombs, but weather too bad and saw no
bombs. The valley of the Rhine so near our feet —
impossible to realize that somewhere between us and
that flat vast plain, with all its villages alight at
night, were both lines of trenches — yet the trees
only moved in the wind and the only noise the bat-
teries to the rear.

November 14. Got up about an hour earlier than
any one else, looked out to find trees covered with
snow — most splendid. The two Fords snowed into
the background. Built fire for sleeping sluggards.
Took two "birds" and one brancardier down the hill

— brakes refused to work — used reverse success-
fully — no mules slaughtered or even touched —
oxen in the way, of great service — dropped my men
at Moosch. Blow-out just pulling into Wesserling

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with two malades — let 'em walk — put on new tube
— also blew out — ran into hospital — put on new
tire — no lunch.

November 15. Cold and clear, mountains amazingly
fine — was orderly. Tried to move an eight-story
Boche stove with Carey from wall to centre of room
where heat might radiate more effectually — weight
two tons — toppled like Tower of Pisa. I held it one
second saving Carey's life after imperilling it first —
just got out before the whole damn shooting-match
crashed to floor a mass of broken cast-iron, broken
baked clay, and ashes. With great patience and sci-
ence utilized lower stones still standing by fixing top,
shortening pipe, etc. Now in centre of room where
one can sit, talk, read, etc. Two vain trips with
Carey to see Burgomaster to report catastrophe.

November 17. Snowing to beat hell. All hands to
Bussang to evacuate hospital — minus usual sumptu-
ous repast. Fenton moved rear roller of his boat in
usual dashing style — came around the corner a min-
ute later with conservative momentum and received
from master-mechanic a severe dissertation on over-
speeding, etc., standing on his own ruins as he spoke.
Got late to Kruth — found Douglass there — then
eased victuals into us at the " Joffre" — six eggs in
my inner tube. Took three frozen feet to Bussang.
We slipped as skating-rink camions stuck all along
the line — snow packed in hard. 168 ran poorly on

184

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

way back — slow going on slippery road — the col
magnificent — trees loaded with fresh snow.

December 3. To Thorns — enormous amount of
heavy artillery on the road — eternal convoys of
mules on way up. Kept getting stuck — finally got
through — found Galatti — terrible weather, road
sea of mud, mountain torrents across it. In the after-
noon we each took down a load of four — difficult
driving — so tired when we got to Moosch. We had
dinner there. My carbide worked feebly, so G. fol-
lowed with electric lights to show me the way. On
steep grade after zigzag I stuck — backed into bank.
G. thought he had calle'ed his wheel, but voiture
rolled downhill into the gutter. An hour's hellish
pushing, cranking, etc., of no avail. Finally I got out
a trench spade and dug away bank and he backed —
some tringlots came by and we pushed him up. Next
assault was on steep turn. G., having burned out his
electric lights trying to get out of gutter, went ahead
of me with his barnyard lantern on bowsprit. He
missed the road. I slowed up and we rested side by
side, neither daring to lift the toe on the brake. Fin-
ally G. backed into a frightful hole — got out, calle'ed
my voiture, and we went in and routed up some char-
bonniers in some log cabins off the road — two cabins
full — got out of bed with most charming grace and
pulled the car out and we finally got back — three
hours from Moosch to there — tres tired, tous les
deux,

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

December 7. Hung around expecting to leave early
to-morrow — took a contagious call in Hall's car,
mine being chargie, to Wesserling, where at the end of
the valley between the mountains three avions were
flying around — two French, one German. The sky
clear for once and, lit by sun about to sink over
Ballon d 'Alsace, was studded with white shrapnel
puffs — while the German puffs were flaked into
black clouds. On the way to Bussang with my con-
tagious passed Hill who yelled, "We stay."

Waldo Pierce

Further Pages

January 9. Took Maud [the name of his car] out
in the morning with Hill at the wheel. — Went first
to Moosch then back by Urber to test hill. Maud
pronounced fit for military burial after Hill's au-
topsy. In p.m. made inventory of Mellen's old car to
take out to-morrow. Bad dreams at night about
Thorns.

January 10. Nightmare of last night not up to
actuality. Got up with Mellen's car at Thorns after
sticking first short of watering-trough. Cate and I
had a stake to plant at the place where Hall fell and
start a cairn of stones. At watering-trough, just as
I started up, a shell lit near and caused a rush of air
by my head. As we planted the stake and gathered
stones shells whistled round. Mellen's car a heller to
crank. Arrived at Thorns finally sweating blood

186

Ph
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P3
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pi
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THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

under my steel casque in spite of temperature
— about zero. Found Suckley, Phillips, Carey and
Cate present. Carey and Phillips went to Paste for
wounded — Suckley to Herrenfluh — Cate and I left
alone. Shell N° 1 arrives — every one to abri — Cate
and I stay outside in kitchen. Bombardment of
about half an hour or three quarters — can't judge.
Last shell sent window, door, and stove in on us and
blew us off the bench. Peeped into the next room.
All blown to hell — shell had landed just to right of
entrance. ... A very low p.m. Rice came tearing up
from Henry's a minute or so after the bombardment.
I saw one hundred yards of messed-up wire moving
mysteriously down the road — was attached to Rice's
car. He hurdled scalloped tin, etc., where tringlots
had been killed. Cate coolest man in Christendom —
was reading account of sinking of Lusitania when last
shell arrived — just at part where torpedo struck. . . .
When some wounded came in on mules I parted with
extreme pleasure.

W. P.

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Cm - flvd-f-i-

A Night Trip

The most anxious drive I ever had in a checkered
automobiling experience was in the evening of Sep-
tember 30. It was at a new post in the mountains,
not far from Hartmannsweilerkopf . I was there for

the first time when a call came from (a station just

behind the lines where a shower bath is established).
It was dusk already, but I knew no better than to
start. The road is new since the beginning of the war;
it follows the steep route of an old path and no lights
are allowed on it for fear the Germans might locate
and shell it. It is narrow, winding, and very steep, so
steep that at places at the top of a descent it looks as
if the road ended suddenly. There was barely enough
twilight through the mass of trees to allow me to see
the pack-mules returning from the day's ravitaille-
menty but I finally made my way to the post.

188

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

I was given a poor, blind soldier to carry back.
What a trip he must have had. If it was trying for
me, it was worse for him.

It was now dark, a moonless, starless night in the
woods. When I started back, I could seldom see the
road itself. I had to steer by the bank or by the gaps
in the trees ahead. Occasionally I would feel one of
the front wheels leave the crown of the road, and
would quickly turn to avoid going over the preci-
pice, but with all this I had to rush the grades which
I could not see, but could only feel.

At last the machine refused a hill and stalled. I
knew that there were steeper hills ahead, worse roads
and thicker woods. I decided that a German bullet
would be better than a fall down the mountain-side,
and so I lit one of my oil lamps. Some passing soldiers
gave me a push and by the flickering light of the lan-
tern I felt my way more easily back to the post. I was
glad to arrive.

Tracy J. Putnam

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

An Attack

A few more hours and the steady line of ambu-
lances began its journey downward to crawl up again
for another load, always waiting. We deposited our
wounded at the first hospital in the valley — there
the British took them and moved them on towards
France. During that first night and day the wounded
men could not filter through the hospital fast enough
to let the new ones enter. Always there were three or
four Fords lined up before the door, filled with men,
perhaps dying, who could not be given even a place
of shelter out of the cold. And it was bitterly cold.
The mountain roads were frozen; our cars slipped and
twisted and skidded from cliff to precipice, avoiding
great ammunition wagons, frightened sliding horses
and pack-mules, and hundreds of men, who, in the
great rush, were considered able to drag themselves
to the hospitals unaided.

190

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

I was on my way to the nearest post to the lines on
the afternoon of the 27th when I was ordered to stop.
Shells were falling on the road ahead and a tree was
down across it. I waited a reasonable time for its re-
moval and then insisted on going on. At that time
I had never been under fire. For two kilometres I
passed under what seemed like an archway of scream-
ing shells. Branches fell on the car. At one time, half
stunned, half merely scared, I fell forward on the
wheel, stalled my engine, and had to get out and
crank up, with pandemonium around me. Then I
found the tree still down. For an hour I lay beside
my car in the road, the safest place, for there was no
shelter. We were covered with debris. Then dusk
came, and as we must return from that road before
dark, I tried to turn. The road was narrow, jammed
with deserted carts and cars, and with a bank on one
side, a sheer drop on the other. I jerked and stalled
and shivered and finally turned, only to discover a
new tree down behind. There could be no hesitating
or waiting for help — we simply went through it and
over it, in a sickening crash. And then our ordinary
adventures began.

John W. Clark

There we had lived and eaten and sometimes slept

during the attack. The soldiers of the th had

practically adopted each and all of us, giving up their
bunks and their food and wine for us at all times and
sharing with us the various good things which had

191

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

come from their homes scattered from the Savoie to
Brittany. No lights were ever shown there; no
shells had fallen anywhere near. On January 8, the
first ones came, shrapnel and asphyxiating gas. Four
men were killed. One of the brancardiers came out
and stood in the road, unsheltered, to warn any
American car that might be coming up. A car broke
down and I took 161 up that afternoon. We climbed
the road among the shells, and near the top a man was
struck just in front of us. I picked him up and on
the way down again we went through a running fire.
Two days later our hut up there was struck and de-
molished. So we moved.

J. W. C.

Cv» Hvx-d.

192

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

Poilu Hardships

The work during the past month has put an unu-
sual strain upon every part of our cars. But it saves
the wounded hours of painful travel, and is appreci-
ated in the most touching manner by men as brave
and uncomplaining as ever did a soldier's duty, who
have more to face than is probably generally realized.
All the horrors of modern war are known here —
high explosives, burning oil, asphyxiating gases, and
in addition it is no gentle country to campaign in.
There are long marches and hard climbs, where the
wind blows cold, and it rains, and soon will snow, for
days at a time.

It is, indeed, a privilege to see the courage and good
cheer of the men who are facing these things. The
ravitaillement may be delayed; their allotted period
in the water-soaked trenches may be doubled, or ,
trebled, and yet it is always "Ca ne fait rien." It is
a keen satisfaction to think that your work will help
to make the horrors of cold weather a little less pain-
ful for such as they.

D. D. L. McGrew

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Winter in Alsace

We now received our first taste of winter, and my
first experience made me put more faith in the rumors
of large falls of snow than an American likes to con-
cede to any country but his own. I was sent to our
regular station at the poste de secours at Mittlach.
It was the farthest away, up the mountain to Treh,
along the bare crest for five kilometres and then
twelve more on a winding, narrow road to the valley
of Metzeral. There was little work then, and the car
that I was to relieve got a trip late that night in what
was, even at Mittlach, a terrific rainstorm. The next
morning it continued raining, but I could see the
peaks of the mountains covered with snow; still no
wounded, so I waited, a little anxious, as no relieving
car had arrived. Late in the afternoon, just after
dark, the familiar sound of a Ford brought me out of

194

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Hfefe^ ^I'^> ^^^<L

WINTER IN ALSACE

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

the poste de secours, and I found Rice, with his car
covered with snow which even the rain had n't yet
melted. His story was of helping the car I had re-
lieved, all morning, in their efforts to pull it on to the
road from which a heavy ammunition wagon had
pushed it, neither vehicle being able to stick to the
icy road. Farther on he had met continual snow-
drifts. His eagerness to bring me chains, my only
chance of getting up, persuaded him to keep on, and
he eventually got through with everybody's help on
the road. We decided to wait until the storm was
over, our only alternative, and proceeded to make
ourselves as comfortable as we could, which means a
stove, somewhere to sleep, and plenty to read and
smoke. It was four days before the snow let up and
we had visions of a long and lonely winter, but as soon
as the storm broke we started up, and, as it proved, in
the nick of time, as the five kilometres along the crest
were again swept by snow and sleet and drifts were
beginning to form. The Mittlach service had to be
abandoned after this, although in late November
and early December a car could go through, but it was
impossible to assure the service and it was found bet-
ter to have sleighs and wagons do the work.

Stephen Galatti

The cold has been intense during the last few days
and breaking the ice to wash is a usual morning per-
formance. A temperature of 5° below zero Fahren-
heit does not facilitate starting a Ford ambulance that

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

has been standing out all night; in fact, almost every
morning it takes about fifteen minutes to start each
car with the aid of hot water, hot potiers, and other
appliances that the inventive genius of our various
drivers supplies.

On either side of you a wilderness of snow. Take
your eyes off the road and you seem to be in the great
forests of a new country. Look back on the road and
turn sharply to avoid the first of a convoy of brand-
new American tractors, or a maze of telephone wires
with their red- and- white labels which have been pulled
from their supports by the snow. The great rocks and
banks resplendent with their coating of ice, the trees,
the snow, the occasional deer, fox, or rabbit contrast
strangely with the road — the narrow, winding, moun-
tain road serving for almost all forms of traffic, save
the railroad, known to man. Mules, mules, mules,
always mules, with their drivers hanging on to the
beasts' tails. H. Dudley Hale

cm.

Huamd

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THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

Weeks of Quiet

With the change of conductors N° 170 has fallen
upon evil times. She has carried meat and bread for
the Section, and even coal; she has run through miles
of snowstorm to bring relief to those who were suffer-
ing from toothache, scarlatina, or mumps; and she
has patiently borne permissionnaires from hospital to
railroad station; but the shriek of shot and shell has
become entirely unfamiliar to her ears. At first it was
the fault of the conductor, who had never conducted
before reaching Bordeaux, and only some half-dozen
times between leaving Bordeaux and arriving in
Alsace. He was not adjudged capable of conducting
up any mountain in general nor up the slopes adjoin-
ing Hartmannsweilerkopf in particular. He went up
once or twice without 170, to inspect and experience,
but it is an experience of which a little goes a long

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

way when not prompted by duty. Afterward it was
the fault of those who sit in the seats of the mighty,
and still is, and apparently will remain so; but at no
time was 170 to blame.

We left Alsace one morning early in February
when the valleys were filled with tinted mist and the
snowy hill-slopes were glowing pink with sunrise, and
we hated doing it. Various reasons have been offered
for our departure by various persons in authority, —
but none of them satisfactory and convincing, — and
we still look back upon it as the Promised Land.
We formed a convoy of twenty-three cars, in which
170 was placed immediately behind the leader — an
arrangement to which twenty-one persons objected.
Every time the side boxes came open and the extra
tins of gasoline scattered over the landscape, or when
the engine stopped through lack of sympathy with the
engineer, three or four cars would manage to slip by.
It was a sort of progressive-euchre party in which 170
never held a winning hand. No one concerned had
the least idea whither we were headed. The first
night we spent at Rupt, where there is an automobile
park. We took it on hearsay that there was an auto-
mobile park, for we left the next morning without
having seen it; but when two days later we joined the
Twentieth Army Corps — the Fighting Twentieth —
at Moyen, we were reported as coming straight from
the automobile park at Rupt. Consequently we were
assumed to be ready for indefinite service "to the last
button of the last uniform," and when we had ex-

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plained that mechanically speaking our last uniform
was on its last button the Fighting Twentieth shook
us off.

However, we spent a week at Moyen — in it up to
our knees. The surrounding country was dry and
almost dusty, but Moyen has an atmosphere of its
own and local color — and the streets are not clean.
Yet to most of us the stay was intensely interesting.
It lies just back of the high- water mark of German in-
vasion, and the little villages and towns round about
show like the broken wreckage tossed up by the tide
— long streets of roofless, blackened ruins, and in the
midst the empty skeleton of a church. The tower has
usually been pierced by shells, and the broken chimes
block the entrance. Nothing has been done to alter or
disguise. The fields surrounding are pitted with shell
craters, which have a suggestive way of lining the
open roads; along the edge of the roads are rifle pits
and shallow trenches filled with a litter of cartridge
boxes and bits of trampled uniform and accoutre-
ment, blue and red, or greenish gray, mixed together,
and always and everywhere the long grave mounds
with the little wooden crosses which are a familiar
feature of the landscape. It lacks, perhaps, the bald
grim cruelty of Hartmannsweilerkopf , but it is a place
not to be forgotten.

From Moyen we moved on to Tantonville, a place
not lacking in material comforts, but totally devoid
of soul; and from there we still make our round of
posts — of one, two, or four cars, and for two, four,

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or eight days. In some, the work is fairly constant,
carrying the sick and second-hand wounded from post
to hospital and from hospital to railroad; in others,
one struggles against mental and physical decay —
and it is from the latter of these in its most aggravated
form that the present communication is penned.

At Oeleville, we saw the class of 1916 called out, —
brave, cheerful-looking boys, standing very straight
at attention as their officers passed down the line, and
later, as we passed them on the march, cheering
loudly for "les Americains" — and so marching on to
the open lid of hell at Verdun. The roads were filled
with soldiers, and every day and all day the troop-
trains were rumbling by to the north, and day after
day and week after week the northern horizon echoed
with the steady thunder of artillery. Sometimes, ly-
ing awake in the stillness of dawn to listen, one could
not count the separate explosions, so closely did they
follow each other. The old man who used to open the
railway gate for me at Dombasle would shake his head
and say that we ought to be up at Verdun, and once
a soldier beside him told him that we were neutrals
and not supposed to be sent under fire. I heard that
suggestion several times made, and one of our men
used to carry in his pocket a photograph of poor Hall's
car to refute it.

There was a momentary thrill of interest when a
call came for four cars to Baccarat — a new post and
almost on the front; there was an English Section
there in need of assistance, and we four who went in-

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tended to " show them how." But it seemed that the
call had come too late and the pressing need was over;
the last batch of German prisoners had been brought
in the day before and the active fighting had ceased.
We stepped into the long wooden cabin where they
waited — the German wounded — and they struggled
up to salute — a more pitiful, undersized, weak-
chested, and woe-begone set of human derelicts I
hope never to see again in uniform; and as we stood
among them in our strong, warm clothes, for it was
snowing outside, all of us over six feet tall, I felt sud-
denly uncomfortable and ashamed.

The officer in charge of the administration said
that a car was needed to go down the valley to Saint-
Die, but we must be very careful for Saint-Die was
under bombardment. Once we were startled at lunch
time by an explosion near the edge of town. Three of
us stepped to the door. We were eating the rarity of
blood sausage and the fourth man kept his seat to
help himself from the next man's plate. As we looked
out there came a second explosion a little farther off,
and then in a few moments a telephone call for an
ambulance, with the news that a Taube had struck a
train. When I reached the place the train had gone
on, carrying ten slightly wounded to Luneville, and
I brought back the other two on stretchers — one a
civilian struck in a dozen places, but otherwise ap-
parently in excellent health and spirits ; the other was
a soldier in pretty bad shape. It must have been ex-
cellent markmanship for the Taube, since we had seen

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nothing in the clear blue sky overhead nor heard the
characteristic whir of the motor, and yet both shell
craters were very close to the tracks. In Alsace they
were constantly in sight, but seldom attacked and
almost never scored a hit, while the French gunners
seemed perfectly happy to fire shrapnel at them all
afternoon with the same indecisive result. One could
not even take the white shrapnel clouds as a point of
departure in looking for the aeroplane — though the
French artillery is very justly famous for its accuracy
of fire. In this instance as in all air raids the success
scored seemed pitifully futile, for it was not a military
train, and most of the wounded were noncombatants.
it had added its little unnecessary mite of suffering,
and of hatred to the vast monument which Germany
has reared to herself and by which she will always be
remembered. W. Kerr Rainsford

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Night

You can little imagine how lonely it is here under
the black, star-swept sky, the houses only masses of
regular blackness in the darkness, the street silent as
a dune in the desert, and devoid of any sign of human
life. Muffled and heavy, the explosion of a torpedo
inscribes its solitary half-note on the blank lines of
the night's stillness. I go up to my room, and sigh
with relief as my sulphur match boils blue and breaks
into its short-lived yellow flame. Shadows are born,
leaping and rising, and I move swiftly towards my
candle-end, the flame catches, and burns straight and
still in the cold, silent room. The people who lived
here were very religious; an ivory Christ on an ebony
crucifix hangs over the door, and a solemn-eyed, pure
and lovely head of Jeanne d'Arc stands on my mantel.
What a marvellous history — hers ! I think it the
most beautiful, mystic tale in our human annals.

Silence — sleep — the crowning mercy. A few
hours go by.

Morning

'There is a call, Monsieur Shin — un couchS

a "

I wake. The night clerk of the Bureau is standing
in the doorway. An electric flashlight in his hand
sets me a-blinking. I dress, shivering a bit, and am
soon on my way. The little gray machine goes cauti-
ously on in the darkness, bumping over shell-holes,
guided by the iridescent mud of the last day's rain. I

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reach a wooded stretch phist! a rifle bullet goes

winging somewhere. A bright flash illuminates the
road. A shell sizzles overhead. I reach the poste de
secours and find a soldier in the roadway. More elec-
tric hand-lamps. Down a path comes a stretcher and
a man wounded in arm and thigh. We put him into
the wagon, cover him up, and away I start on my long,
dark ride to the hospital, a lonely, nerve-tightening

ride.

Stray Thoughts

The voice of war is the voice of the shell. You hear
a perfectly horrible sound as if the sky were made of
cloth and the Devil were tearing it apart, a screaming
undulating sound followed by an explosion of fearful
violence, bang! The violence of the affair is what im-
presses you, the suddenly released energy of that mur-
derous burst. When I was a child I used to wander
around the shore and pick up hermit crabs and put
them on a plate. After a little while you would see a
very prudent claw come out of the shell, then two
beady eyes, finally the crab in propria persona. I was
reminded of that scene on seeing people come cauti-
ously out of their houses after a shell had fallen, peep-
ing carefully out of doorways, and only venturing to
emerge after a long reconnoitring.*

I am staying here. It was my design to leave at the
beginning of the year, but why should I go? I am very
happy to be able to do something here, very proud to
feel that I am doing something. In times to come

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when more Americans realize their lost opportunity,
there will be many regrets, but you and I will be con-
tent. So wish me the best. Not that there is anything
attractive to keep me here. To live continually under
shell fire is a hateful experience, and the cheerless life,
so empty of any domesticity, and the continuous
danger are acid to any one with memories of an old,
beloved New England hearth and close family ties and
friendships. To half jest, I am enduring war for peace
of mind.

How lonely my old house must be when the winter
storms surge round it at midnight. How the great
flakes must swirl round its ancient chimney, and fall
softly down the black throat of the fireplace to the
dark, ungarnished hearth. The goblin who polished
the pewter plates in the light of the crumbling fire-
brands has gone to live with his brother in a hollow
tree on the hill. But when you come to Topsfield, the
goblin himself, red flannel cap and all, will open the
door to you as the house's most honored and welcome
guest.

A fusee Sclairante has just run over the wood — the
bois de la mort — the wood of the hundred thousand
dead. And side by side with the dead are the living,
the soldiers of the army of France, holding, through
bitter cold and a ceaseless shower of iron and hell, the
far-stretching lines. If there is anything I am proud
of, it is of having been with the French army — the
most devoted and heroic of the war.

H. Sheahan

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C^«. M \ • <x. d

A Gallant Blesse

I was stationed at one of our postes de secours the
other night during a terrible rainstorm. The wind
does blow on top of these mountains when it begins !
About bedtime, which is at 7.30 (we eat our dinner at
4.30 — it is pitch dark then), a call came from one of
our postes three kilometres nearer the line. There was
a captain wounded and they asked me to go for him.
I cannot speak French well, but I made them under-
stand. The poste is at the foot of the mountain, hid-
den from the Boches by the trees in the woods only.
At night we cannot use lights, for the Germans would
see us easily, and then there would be a dead Ameri-
can in short order. Of course, I told them I would go,
but it would be dangerous for the blesse. I could
jump out in case I should run into a ravine, but I
could not save the man on the stretcher if anything
happened. They understood, and, after about half
an hour, we heard another knock on the cabin door,
and they brought the captain in — four men, one on

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each corner of a stretcher. They put him on the floor,
and in the lantern light of the room (made of rough
timbers) one could see he was vitally stricken by the
death color of his face and lips. He had his full senses.
It was my duty then to take him down the opposite
slope of the mountain to the hospital. I started my
car and tried to find my way through the trees in the
dark. The wind was almost strong enough to blow
me off the seat, and the rain made my face ache. The
only light I had was that of the incendiary bombs of
the French and the Germans at the foot of the hill,
about one and a half kilometres away. These bombs
are so bright they illuminate the whole sky for miles
around like a flash of lightning. I must admit my
nerves were a little shaken, taking a dying man into
my car under such conditions, almost supernatural.
It did seem like the lights of the spirits departing
mixed with the moaning wind and the blackness of
the night, and the pounding of the hand-grenades in
the front lines so near. They gave me another blessS
with the captain. This man had been shot through
the mouth only, and was well enough to sit up in back
and watch the captain. I could use my lights after I
had passed down the side a short distance out of sight
of the lines. We must run our motors in low speed or
we use up our brakes in one trip. All the poor capitaine
could say during the descent was "J'ai soif" except
once when he requested me to stop the car, as the road
was too rough for him, and we had to rest. When we
reached the hospital, I found a bullet had struck one

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shoulder and passed through his back and out the
other shoulder. He also had a piece of shell in his side.
A few hours before he had walked back from the
trenches into the woods to see a position of the Ger-
mans; they saw him — and seldom does a man escape
when seen at fairly close range. He was vitally
wounded. I climbed up the mountain watching the
fire-flashes in the sky, feeling pretty heavy-hearted
and homesick, but with strengthened resolve to help
these poor chaps all I possibly could.

The next day I had another trip from the same
station on the mountain to the same hospital at five
o'clock in the afternoon — then dark as midnight.
The sisters told me the capitaine was better; the ball
had not severed the vertebra and there was hope for
him. They told me also that the general had arrived
and conferred upon him the Cross of the Legion
d'Honneur. It was reassuring to hear that he was bet-
ter and had distinguished himself so well, and I went
back up the trail this night with a lighter heart. I had
felt really guilty, for I did not have a thing in my car
to give him the night before when he asked me to stop
the car and said, "J'ai soif." Never did I want a
spoonful of whiskey more and never have I regretted
not having it more. I could not give him water — he
had some fever; besides, though there are many
streams of it running down the mountain, no one
dares to touch it. Water is dangerous in wartime, and
we have all been warned against it.

I was called the next morning for the same trip and

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when I reached the hospital at eight o'clock it was
still raining — now for three days! I met Sceur Siege-
bert in the hall — carrying her beads, her prayer-book
and a candle. She is one of the good nuns who always
gives me hot soup or tea with rum in it when I come
in cold, wet, and hungry — and many times I and the
others have blessed her! My first question was:
"Comment qa va avec le capitaine ce matin ?9i All she
said and could say was "Fini" He had passed out a
short time before I got there. He was only thirty
years old, tall and handsome, and they say he led a
whole battalion with the courage of five men.

A little later I stepped into the death chamber in a
little house apart from the hospital. It was cold, wet,
and smelled strongly of disinfectant, just as such
places should, and in a dim, small room lighted by two
candles, upon a snowy white altar made by the nuns,
there he lay on a bier of the purest linen beautifully
embroidered, whiter even than the pallor of his fea-
tures and hands, and as I came near him the only
color in the room was the brilliant touch of red and
silver in his Legion oVHonneur medal, which was
pinned over his heart. His peaceful expression as-
sured me he was happy at last, and made me real-
ize that this is about the only happiness left for all
these poor young chaps I see marching over these
roads in companies for the trenches, where their only
shelter is the sky and their only rest underground in
dug-outs. When they go into the trenches they have

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a slim chance of coming out whole again, and they
pass along the road in companies with jovial spirits,
singing songs and laughing as though they were going
to a picnic. I see them come back often, too; they are
still smiling but nearly always in smaller numbers.
What can they have in view when they see their num-
bers slowly but surely dwindling! I marvel at their
superb courage!

Luke C. Doyle

Perils of a Blizzard

The other night, just as I was going to crawl in,
three blessis arrived from the trenches, another was
down the road in a farmhouse waiting for the mSdecin
chef; he was too badly wounded to go farther. They
asked me to take the men to the hospital at Krut,
which is back over the mountains twenty miles, and
of course I said I would. I dressed again (I hated to
because it was warm in the little log shack and it had
begun to rain outside); I lit my lantern, and went
out to the shelter where the cars were, got my tank
filled with gas, and my lights ready to burn when I
could use them. It was so black one could see nothing
at all. We put two of the blesses on stretchers and
pushed them slowly into the back of the car; the other
sat in front with me. We did this under the protec-
tion of the hill where the poste de secours is located.
When one goes fifty yards on the road beyond the
station there is a valley, narrow but clear, which is
in full view of the trenches, and it is necessary to go

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over this road going and coming. In the daytime one
cannot be seen because the French have put up a row
of evergreens along it which hides the road. I started
and proceeded very carefully, keeping my lantern
under a blanket, and we soon arrived at the house
where the other blesse was waiting for the doctor. It
was a typical French farmhouse, little, old, and dirty
inside, and white outside. I pushed in the door and
stepped down into the flagstone kitchen. On the
floor lay the chasseur on a stretcher, his face pale un-
der the lamplight from the table. The medecin chef
was bending over him injecting tetanus (lockjaw)
anti-toxin into his side, and with each punch of the
needle the poor fellow, already suffering from terrible
wounds, would squirm but not utter a word. The
soldiers stood around the tiny room, their heads
almost touching the brown rafters above. We took
the man out to my car on the stretcher, carrying the
light under the coat of one of the stretcher-bearers.
If the Germans see a light moving anywhere in the
French territory, they will fire on it if they think it
near enough. I started up the mountain with my
load of wounded. On either side of the road the
French guns at certain places pounded out their
greetings to the Boches, and the concussion would
shake the road so that I could feel it in my car. I
could light my lights after about a mile, so I pro-
ceeded slowly up the mountain in low speed. The heat
from my motor kept the blessis and myself warm.
About halfway up, we ran into the clouds and it

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became so foggy one could scarcely see; farther up
it became colder and began to snow. I had no chains
on my car (none to be had). They need so many
things here, if they only had the money to buy them.
I thought of the time you and I got stuck at Prince-
ton, and it worried me to be without chains, espe-
cially since I had three helpless men inside and one
out. I kept climbing up and the higher I went the
more it snowed and the harder it blew. Near the top
it became veritably blinding — snow, sleet, and wind
— a typical northeasterly American blizzard. The
little car ploughed on bravely; it stuck only once on a
sharp turn, and by backing it I was able to make it
by rushing it. I could not see the road, the sleet was
blowing into my face so and the snow was so thick.
At last I reached the summit and the wind was so
strong there it actually lifted my car a little at one
time. On one side of the road was a high embankment
and on the other a ravine sloping down at least one
thousand feet. I was scared to death, for without
chains we were liable to skid and plunge down this
depth. The snow had been falling all day, and it had
drifted in places over a yard deep. Twice I took a
level stretch to be the road, but discovered my mis-
take in time to back up; the third time was more seri-
ous; I plunged ahead through a drift which I thought
was the road, and finally I stuck and could move
neither way. I could not leave these men there all
night wounded, and the blizzard did not stop, so my
only means was to find help. I walked back to what

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WHAT NIGHT TRIPS WITHOUT LIGHTS SOMETIMES MEAN

THE DANGERS OF THE ROAD

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

I thought was the road and kept on toward a slight,
glimmering light I could see in the right direction. It
was an enclosure for mules which haul ammunition
over the mountains, and I felt safe again, for I knew
there were a lot of Territorial soldiers with them.
I hauled them out of bed; it was then 10.30. They
came with me and pushed me back on the road, also
pushed me along — ten of them — until they got me
on the descent, and from there on the weight of my
car carried me down through the drifts. I arrived at
the hospital at 12.30 and was the happiest man you
have ever seen to get those poor fellows there safely.
I was sent back to Mittlach the next day to get
four more wounded. They were what are called assis,
not couches, fortunately, because the snow on top of
Trekopf had been falling and drifting all day and
night. When I got to the top of the mountain and
started down, the roads had been broken and beaten
down by munition wagons and were like a sheet of
ice. I started down without chains, and with all my
brakes on the car began to slide slowly down the road.
It slid toward the edge of the ravine and the two front
wheels went over; it stopped, I got it back on the
road, and turned the radiator into the bank on the
other side and tried tying rags on the rear wheels to
keep the car from going down, when a big wagon with
four horses came down the hill behind me. It was so
slippery that the horses started to slide down on their
haunches, and, with brakes on, the driver could not
stop them. The horses came on faster and they slid

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

into the rear of my car, pushed it along for about six
feet, and then nothing could stop it. It started down
the road. I yelled to the wounded, " Vous, jetez vous."
They understood and piled out just in time. The car
ran across the road and plunged down into the ravine.
There was a lot of snow on the side of the ravine, and
it had piled up so that it stopped the car part way
down, and it was not injured very much. It took nine
men and as many mules to pull it out. Now that the
snow has come, I think our service to Mittlach will
have to be abandoned.

L. C. D.

At Tomansplatz the other day an officer and I

started for , one of our postes. We took a short

cut over a high hill from which one could look easily
down on — — , where all the fighting had been going
on. There is a path over this hill which is hidden by
trees, and on the top is a long boyau to pass through
so as to keep out of sight of the Germans in clear
weather. When we reached the top, we stepped out
of the path to get a view of the valley, and it was
wonderful looking down on the French and German
trenches, and to see the hill all shot to pieces and the
trees broken to stubs — living scars of the fighting
that had gone on. We did not get by unseen, for the
Germans are always on the job. They have observa-
tion posts in the trees, hard to be seen, but easy to see
from. There was a lot of firing going on, and we could
see the French shells landing in the German lines. I

214

MULE CONYOY IN ALSACE

THE "POSTE" NEAR HARTMANNSWEILERKOPF
AFTER A BOMBARDMENT

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

had a premonition that something was going to hap-
pen and stepped behind a tree. I heard particularly
one big gun fire, and wondered if by any chance it was
meant for us. It took only three or four seconds to
confirm my suspicion, for the shriek of a shell came
our way. As they often pass high over our heads and
we are familiar with the sound, I was still in doubt,
when it burst not fifty yards away. We did not wait
to investigate further, but jumped for the boyau when
another shriek was heard, and we were just in time,
for the shell burst not far behind us. We could tell
when they were firing at us, for we could hear the gun
fire, — it sounded like a 150 mm., which is about 6-
inch bore, — then came the shriek, and then the burst-
ing. It certainly is a strange, unwelcome sound when
you know you are the target. We ran down the boyau
toward the back of the hill for all we were worth, and
they followed us, but we did not stop to look or listen,
we almost rolled down the other side of the hill, but
it was to safety, thank Heaven. The only thing that
happened to me was a scratch on the back of my
hand. Never again! The sensation of shells coming
at one is novel but nauseating, and I keep away from
the lines from now on.

I must tell you that we have received a citation, and
Colonel Hill's brother the Croix de Guerre for the work
we did during the attack of October 15 to 19. Two
more citations and we receive, each one, the Croix de
Guerre. L. C. D.

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Poignant Impressions

I had a wild ride last night in the rain. A German
shell landed in a town only two kilometres from the
front and killed four civilians and wounded one
woman. I had to go and get her. For two kilometres
the road runs over a slight rise in the plain, in full
view of the Germans. It is all screened off with brush
cut and stuck up along the side toward the lines, but
here and there the brush was blown down by the
terrific wind which came with the storm. We could
not use lights, but we did not need them, for, though
it was raining like fury, the Germans were sending up
illuminating bombs which lighted up the country for
miles around. They are the most fascinating yet
weird things you have ever witnessed. This ball of
fire rises from the trenches to a height of one hundred
feet, and then floats along slowly through the air for
a quarter of a mile, illuminating everything around.
At one time one came directly for us, and we stopped
the car and watched it. At the roadside stood a huge
crucifix, and, as this ball of fire approached, it sil-
houetted the cross, and all we could see was the beau-
tiful shadow of the figure on the cross rising from the
earth against the weird glow of white fire. It seemed
like the sacrifice of Calvary and the promise of suc-
cess for poor France.

We did not dare to use our low speed for fear the
Boches would hear us, so we tore over this road on
high, rushing past the bare spots, afraid of being seen.
The illuminating bombs are used for this purpose

216

ONE OF OUR CARS IN TROUBLE

COFFINS IN COURTYARD OF BASE HOSPITAL IN ALSACE —
AMONG THEM RICHARD HALL'S

THE INSPECTOR'S LETTER BOX

only; the one which came toward us went out before
it reached us, for which we were grateful. We got
the woman. She had to have her arm amputated.

December 27

We have had very strenuous times, as a big attack
has just taken place and the wounded have come in so
fast and so badly cut up they could not give them the
care they would like to, as everything is so crowded.
The Germans lost a lot of trenches, and almost two
thousand of them were taken prisoners. They have
been shelling the French lines and towns constantly;
since the 22d, our cars have been more or less under
fire. We moved our quarters about six kilometres
nearer the line and bring the wounded in to the hos-
pital three times a day. The Germans shelled this
place, — why we do not know, for there is nothing
military her but the hospital, and why should people
of any intelligence and feeling wish to shell a hospi-
tal?

One of our men was killed on Christmas Day and
we are terribly broken up over it. He was going from
this hospital to the poste we go to daily over a road up
the mountain. At four o'clock Christmas morning
one of our boys started up this road, which goes up
and up with no level place on it. He passed the mid-
dle of the journey when he thought he noticed a
wagon turned over about forty feet down in the ra-
vine. He went to a point where he could stop his car,
took his lantern, and walked back. He found one of

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FRIENDS OF FRANCE

our Fords so demolished it could not be distinguished.
The top of the car was up in a tree and so were the
extra tires; there was nothing on the ground but a
chassis. He saw no one around, but on going down a
little farther, he saw a bundle of blankets which we
always carry for the wounded, and, on walking up to
it, he found one of our fellows, Dick Hall. He was
lying on his side with his arms fixed as if driving and in
a sitting position, cold and rigid. He had been dead
a couple of hours. Walter, who found him, went back
up the road for assistance, and, while there, Hall's
brother came along in his car and asked what the
matter was and offered his assistance. Walter told
him his brakes were not working and he was fixing
them, so Hall, knowing nothing of his brother, passed
on up the mountain, got his load of wounded, and
took them to the hospital.

In the Hospital

January 1, 1916

This brings the war home to us ! This and the suf-
fering and torments of the wounded make me sick at
heart. I have seen them suffer particularly since this
last attack, as I am a blesse myself — and am in a
French hospital. It is only a slight arm wound; the
bone is cracked a little, but not broken. I am here to
have the piece of shell drawn out and am assisting
these poor wounded all I can. I was sent to the poste
we have nearest the lines, on the other side of the

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mountain and hidden in the woods. The trenches
begin at this poste. The poste itself is an abri, a bomb-
proof dug-out in the ground. The roof and supports
are made of timbers a foot or more thick, over these
are placed two feet of heavy rock and again two feet
of earth. When I got there the Germans began bom-
barding, and fired shells into these woods and into
this poste for almost five hours. I never want to see
another such bombardment; it was frightful. I saw
shells land among horses, smash big trees in half
within ten and twenty yards. I saw three men hit; one
had his face shot away. The poste became so full of
wounded we had to stand near the doorway, which is
partly protected by a bomb-proof door. It was not
exactly safe inside, for the shells, if big enough, when
they hit such an abri often loosen the supports, and
the roof, weighing tons, falls in and buries people
alive. A man in the same room with me in the hospi-
tal here was in an abri not far from where we were
when it was struck; the roof fell and killed three men
who were with him and he was buried for an hour. A
shell struck a tree not eight feet off from where we
were standing and smashed it in half; it fell and al-
most killed one of two brancardiers (stretcher-bearers)
who were carrying a dead man past the door. A piece
of the eclat hit the other brancardier in the head and
killed him. The man standing beside me had his hand
shot off, and I got hit in the elbow. Three pieces went
through my coat, but only one went into the arm. If
I had not been standing against the door I might have

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fared worse. I was carried with two other wounded
by one of our fellows up the steep mountain road to
our second poste. They were bombarding that road as
well as the poste. We could see the sky redden from
the flash of the guns below and we could hear the
shells shriek as they came toward us, and the Sclat not
too far away. Twice we started the Ford on the way
up; it stalled and took five precious minutes to get it
going again. The force of one explosion knocked the
fellow with me over when he walked ahead to try and
make out the road. We stuck in the road twice, not
daring to pass a wagon conveying munitions. We
could not make the hill, it was so steep, and we had to
seek men to push us. It was pitch-black and we could
not use our lights. This with two gravely wounded
men on our hands rather took the nerve out of us. We
finally got back to headquarters and found them bom-
barding there, one shell having struck not far from
the hospital.

January 20

I am still in the hospital, but am glad to say my
arm is almost quite well again. It does take time.
The bombardment by the Germans of all our former
postes has become pretty nerve-racking. The house
we took for the attack has been hit twice. We had
moved out only the day before. They struck a school-
house close by and killed a nun and wounded three
harmless children. Our cars have been hit by scraps
of shell, but fortunately when none of the men were
in them.

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The suffering of the men in this hospital and the
cries in the night make it an inferno. Though I am
glad I can help a little, I must say it is on my nerves.

In this hospital — which is one of the best — they
need very badly beds for men who have had their
vertebrae broken. These men live from two to six
months in a frame on their backs all the time. This is
the way they spend the last months of their lives.
We have three men in this condition now, and each
time they are moved it takes at least four men to
change them and they suffer terribly. The special
beds I speak of are made on pulleys with bottom and
sides which can be opened for washing and service
purposes. They cost forty dollars and France cannot
afford to buy them, as she has so many needs. If you
could raise some money for this purpose, you would
be doing these poor fellows the last favors they will
have on this earth and help them in their suffering.

L. C. D.

F&IENDS OF FRANCE

New Quarters

August 6, 1915

I was delighted to see "Doc" to-day. He arrived

yesterday evening from Paris, but I was on M

duty, so we did not meet until this morning. We had
a long talk and I told him the story of the fatal 22d;
the recital of it only seems to have reimpressed me
with the horror of that night.

We are now quite comfortably settled in our new
quarters, a house never shelled until just after our
occupation of it, when we received a 77 a few feet
from our windows. I do not know why it has been
spared unless the Boches were anxious not to destroy
a creation so obviously their own. Architecturally it
is incredible — a veritable pastry cook's chef d'oeuvre.
Some of the colors within are so vivid that hours of
darkness cannot drive them out of vision. There is
no piano, but musical surprises abound. Everything
you touch or move promptly plays a tune, even a

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stein plays " Deutsckland ilber alles" — or something.
Still the garden full of fruit and vegetables will make
up for the rest. Over the brook which runs through
it is a little rustic bridge — all imitation wood made
of cast iron ! Just beneath the latter I was electrified
to discover a very open-mouthed and particularly
yellow crockery frog quite eighteen inches long I A
stone statue of a dancing boy in front of the house
was too much for us all. We ransacked the attic and
found some articles of clothing belonging to our ab-
sent hostess, and have so dressed it that, with a tin
can in its hand, it now looks like an inadequately clad
lady speeding to her bath-house with a pail of fresh
water.

Last night "Mac" and I were on night duty at

M , and when we arrived at the telephone bureau

— where we lie on stretchers fully dressed in our blan-
kets waiting for a call (the rats would keep you awake
if there were no work to do) — we were told that they
expected a bad bombardment of the village. ' Mac"
and I tossed up for the first call, and I lost. " Auberge
Saint-Pierre, I bet," laughed "Mac." That is our
worst trip — but it was to be something even more
unpleasant than usual. About eleven o'clock the
Boches started shelling the little one-street village
with 105 shrapnel. In the midst of it a brancardier
came running in to ask for an ambulance — three
couches, " tres pressed Of course, I had to grin and
bear it, but it is a horrid feeling to have to go out into
a little street where shells are falling regularly —

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start your motor — turn — back — and run a few
yards down the street to a poste de secours where a
shell has just landed and another is due any moment.

"Are your wounded ready?" I asked, as calmly as
I could. "Oui, monsieur." So out I went — and was
welcomed by two shells — one on my right and the
other just down the street. I cranked up N° 10, the
brancardier jumped up by my side, and we drove to
our destination. I decided to leave the ambulance on
the left side of the road (the side nearer the trenches
and therefore more protected by houses from shell-
fire) , as I thought it safer on learning that it would be
fifteen minutes before the wounded were ready; and
luckily for me, for a shell soon landed on the other
side of the road where I usually leave the ambulance.
My wounded men were now ready; it appeared that
one of the shrapnel shells had entered a window and
exploded inside a room where seven soldiers, resting
after a hard day's work in the trenches, were sleeping
— with the appalling result of four dead and three
terribly wounded. As I felt my way to the hospital
along that pitch-black road, I could not help wonder-
ing why those poor fellows were chosen for the sacri-
fice instead of us others in the telephone bureau —
sixty yards down the street.

However, here I am writing to you, safe and sound,
on the little table by my bedside, with a half-burnt
candle stuck in a Muratti cigarette box. Outside the
night is silent — my window is open and in the
draught the wax has trickled down on to the box and

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then to the table — unheeded — for my thoughts
have sped far. To Gloucester days, and winter even-
ings spent in the old brown-panelled, raftered room,
with its pewter lustrous in the candlelight; and the
big, cheerful fire that played with our shadows on the
wall, while we talked or read — and were content.
Well — that peace has gone for a while, but these
days will likewise pass, and we are young. It has,
been good to be here in the presence of high courage
and to have learned a little in our youth of the values
of life and death.

Leslie Buswell

c^h<*»»<c

The Poetry of War

We have had much talk to-night about the proba-
ble effect of the war upon art and literature in differ-
ent countries, and gradually the discussion shifted
from prophecy to history and from the abstract to the
concrete, and narrowed down to the question as to the
best poem the war has already produced. In France
enough verse has been inspired by the war to fill a
"five-foot shelf" of India-paper editions, but we all
had finally to admit that none of us was in a position
to choose the winner in such a vast arena. Among
the short poems in English, some voted for Rupert
Brooke's sonnet which begins : —

" If I should die, think only this of me:

That there 's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England."

But nothing that any of us has seen is more in-
spired than the verses which poured from the heart
and mind of a young American in the Foreign Legion
here in France. His name is Alan Seeger, and the
poem was written in, and named from, the region in
which his regiment was stationed. It is called " Cham-
pagne, 1914-15," and was printed in the North Amer-
ican Review for October, 1915.

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CHAMPAGNE, 1914-15

In the glad revels, in the happy fetes,

When cheeks are flushed, and glasses gilt and
pearled
With the sweet wine of France that concentrates

The sunshine and the beauty of the world,

Drink, sometimes, you whose footsteps yet may tread
The undisturbed, delightful paths of Earth,

To those whose blood, in pious duty shed,

Hallows the soil where that same wine had birth.

Here, by devoted comrades laid away,

Along our lines they slumber where they fell,

Beside the crater at the Ferme d' Alger
And up the bloody slopes of La Pompelle,

And round the city whose cathedral towers
The enemies of Beauty dared profane,

And in the mat of multicolored flowers

That clothe the sunny chalk-fields of Champagne.

Under the little crosses where they rise

The soldier rests. Now round him undismayed

The cannon thunders, and at night he lies
At peace beneath the eternal fusillade. . . .

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That other generations might possess —

From shame and menace free in years to come —

A richer heritage of happiness,

He marched to that heroic martyrdom.

Esteeming less the forfeit that he paid

Than undishonored that his flag might float

Over the towers of liberty, he made
His breast the bulwark and his blood the moat.

Obscurely sacrificed, his nameless tomb
Bare of the sculptor's art, the poet's lines,

Summer shall flush with poppy-fields in bloom,
And Autumn yellow with maturing vines.

There the grape-pickers at their harvesting
Shall lightly tread and load their wicker trays,

Blessing his memory as they toil and sing
In the slant sunshine of October days.

I love to think that if my blood should be
So privileged to sink where his has sunk,

I shall not pass from Earth entirely,

But when the banquet rings, when healths are
drunk,

And faces, that the joys of living fill,

Glow radiant with laughter and good cheer,

In beaming cups some spark of me shall still
Brim toward the lips that once I held so dear.

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CHAMPAGNE, 1914-15

So shall one, coveting no higher plane

Than Nature clothes in color and flesh and tone,
Even from the grave put upward to attain

The dreams youth cherished and missed and might
have known.

And that strong need that strove unsatisfied
Toward earthly beauty in all forms it wore,

Not death itself shall utterly divide
From the beloved shapes it thirsted for.

Alas, how many an adept, for whose arms
Life held delicious offerings, perished here —

How many in the prime of all that charms,

Crowned with all gifts that conquer and endear!

Honor them not so much with tears and flowers,
But you with whom the sweet fulfilment lies,

Where in the anguish of atrocious hours
Turned their last thoughts and closed their dying
eyes,

Rather, when music on bright gatherings lays
Its tender spell, and joy is uppermost,

Be mindful of the men they were, and raise
Your glasses to them in one silent toast.

Drink to them — amorous of dear Earth as well,
They asked no tribute lovelier than this —

And in the wine that ripened where they fell,
Oh, frame your lips as though it were a kiss.

Alan Seeger

ALAN SEEGER

SOLDIER OF THE FOREIGN LEGION

KILLED IN ACTION

JUL? 4, 1916

Yet, sought they neither recompense nor praise,

Nor to be mentioned in another breath

Than their blue-coated comrades whose great days

It was their pride to share, ay! share even to death.
Nay, rather, France, to you they rendered thanks

(Seeing they came for honor, not for gain),
Who, opening to them your glorious ranks,
Gave them that grand occasion to excel,

That chance to live the life most free from stain
And that rare privilege of dying well.

From a poem written by him in memory of American Volunteers fallen
for France, upon the occasion of a memorial service held before the Lafayette-
Washington statue on the Place des Etats-Unis in Paris, May 30, 1916.

XIII

FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

In the Hills of France,
June 23, 1916

Dear Mother, —

Your two letters of May 23d and June 4th have
both arrived in the last week, but I have been too
busy and too sleepy to answer them. They have given
us a very important work as well as a dangerous one,
— to evacuate the wounded about one and a quarter
miles from the first-line trenches, — and since we
have been here, about a week, our little ambulances
(holding five wounded) have carried some hundreds
of men. We are quartered in a town about four miles
away from the front, which the Germans take pleas-
ure in shelling twice a day. About fifteen minutes
ago, while we were at breakfast, they dropped two
shells, "150's," which landed four hundred yards
away; but I seem so used to running into danger now,
that it hardly affects me at all. We got here a week
ago, on Friday, and on Saturday morning I made my
first trip to our poste de secours on a French machine.
The first part of the drive is through the valley,
where there is a beautiful winding river, and some
pretty old towns. There you begin an ascent for
about two miles on a road which is lined with French

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FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

batteries and quite open to the view of the Germans,
who have a large observation balloon only a mile
or two away. Consequently the road is fired over
all the time, so you feel that a passing shell might
at any moment fall on you. Just this morning,
about four o'clock, three shells went over my ma-
chine and broke in a field near by. When one reaches
the top of the ascent, there is a piece of road, very
rough and covered with debris of all kinds — dead
horses, old carts and wheels, guns, and confusion
everywhere. This road leads to an old fort where
our wounded are, and on this road the German fire is
even worse. Well, this first morning, just before we
arrived, the Germans began a bombardment which
lasted five hours. The shells landed all around us, but
we finally got in safely. It was altogether the most
awful experience I have ever been through. We dis-
covered a small tunnel holding three of our cars, and
here I waited five hours without any breakfast, hear-
ing the roar of the shells — they make a noise like
a loud, prolonged whistle — and then hearing the
French batteries answer with a more awful roar, be-
cause nearer. To add to the interest, two or three gas
shells exploded near us, which made our eyes water.
Luckily we had our gas masks with us, but we had
got it in our faces before we could put them on.
Meanwhile, the wounded were being carried in from
the first-line trenches by the stretcher-bearers who,
by the way, are some of the real heroes of the war.
The time came for us to go out into the open in order

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to let the other cars get in after us. As you may imag-
ine, it was an awful moment for us; however, we
went along slowly but surely, and finally we got down
the hill, away from all the noise and danger. It was
worth while, though, for we were carrying many
wounded with us. For a week we have been doing this
work and are all still alive; and we have to our credit
about seven hundred wounded men. The French
are, of course, very appreciative of our work. I wish
that I could describe things more fully, but I am too
much "all in." I am well in spite of the excitement,
but tired to death of the horrors, the smells, and the
sights of war. We will be here but a few days more
and after this will be given an easier place for a while;
so you need not worry after receiving this. I am glad
to have gotten a taste of real war, though, so as to
know what it really means.

Your affectionate son,

Malbonb
(Birckhead)

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FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

August 9, 1916

Dear K., —

It is quiet and cool to-night; the moon is shining
just as it will with you a few hours later, for it is now
9.15 here, and only 3.15 with you. Last night it was
quiet and I slept from half -past nine till seven ! The
night before, however, the guns roared all night long
and increased in vigor up to six o'clock in the morn-
ing. We were waked up a little after five o'clock by
the scream of a shell which hit somewhere back of
us. The house shook amid the roar, as it always does
whenever there is much firing.

We are quartered in one of the farmhouses belong-
ing to the chateau, which is now a hospital. You re-
member, no doubt, the French farmhouses: a blank
wall on the roadside with only an entrance to the
courtyard, a dark kitchen, a few bedrooms, and a
loft with a few sheds out back. The loft is divided
into two parts. We sleep up in the loft on stretchers
propped up from the floor by boxes or our little army
trunks. Some don't prop up their stretchers, but I
find it better to elevate mine, as the rats run all over
the floor and incidentally over you if your stretcher
rests on the floor. The fleas seem more numerous near
the floor, and there are spiders, too. I've been pretty
well "bit up," but yesterday I soaked my blankets
in petrol and hung them on the line in the courtyard
for an airing, so I think I've left the vermin behind.
I also sprayed my clothes, especially my underwear,

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with petrol, which does n't make much for comfort,
except in so far as the animals are baffled. We are bet-
ter off than the other Sections, though, for our house
is very commodious, and we have a river to swim in
every day. The river is quite near by, so it is no ef-
fort to bathe.

We carry the wounded from the chateau to the
trains. Some trips are about seventeen kilometers one
way, and others are more. As the roads are well used,
they are rather bumpy, so you have to go very slowly.
You do not dash at full speed with your wounded!
It is slow work, for, in addition to the necessity for
making the trip as easy as possible for the blesses, you
have to dodge in and out among the transports, which
usually fill up the roads. There is a steady stream go-
ing and coming, horses, mules, and auto-trucks. You
never saw so many of either one of the above. Thou-
sands of each kind. You well know the dust on
the roads. We have to drive ahead regardless of the
clouds of dust, so you can imagine what sights we
are when we get back to our farmhouse. Scarecrows,
each one. The dust is powdery and comes off easily,
however, so you can get comfortable in a short time.
There is no lagging or loafing; you blow your whistle
and the driver of what's ahead of you gives you six
inches of road and you squeeze through and take a
chance that the nigh mule on the team coming the
other way does n't kick.

The blesses are a quiet lot, especially after you give
them cigarettes. I always pass around the cigarettes

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before starting, for then I'm sure those en derrihe
will be quiet. Every now and then you have a "hum-
mingbird," that is, a blesse who is so hurt that the
least jar pains him and he moans or yells. You can't
help him any, so you just have to put up with it. How-
ever, I don't like "hummingbirds," for you feel that
you hit more bumps.

I went to a show down in town where some of
the soldiers are en repos. It was wonderful, for there,
right within range of the Boche guns, the soldiers
were giving one of the best musical shows I have ever
seen. Among the actors — men who only a little while
before were in the trenches — were professional musi-
cians, singers, and actors. It was not amateurish —
in fact, it was highly professional. The theatre was
fitted up more or less like the stage at the Hasty
Pudding Club at Harvard (an amateurish back, how-
ever), but everything else savored of the real Pari-
sian touch. Among the audience were generals, colo-
nels, under-officers, poilus, and five of us (we were
invited, inasmuch as we had lent some of our uniforms
for the actors) . The soldiers who could not get in
thronged the courtyard and cheered after every song
or orchestra piece. The orchestra was made up of
everything in a city orchestra, including a leader with
a baton. You see each regiment is bound to have
professional men in it and they get up the shows. (I
saw my cap walk out on the stage on a fellow with a
little head, so it did n't even rest on his ears, but
rather on his nose) . On the whole, it was one of the

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greatest and most impressive sights I 've seen, and on
top of it all, there was a continuous firing in the near
distance. Imagine it, if you can!

We have a cook, a chambermaid, — one of the
poilus who is quartered here, too, and who earns a few
sous on the side by serving us, — also a French lieu-
tenant who is really the head of the Section, a mari-
chal de logis, and a few other French retainers. They
sleep in the same loft with us. Every night they chat-
ter very late and kid each other about the fish they
caught or did not catch during the day in the river.
They laugh and giggle at each other just like kids.
They are awfully amusing. All the poilus who are
en repos fish, although there are only minnows around
here. I asked several to-day how many they caught,
and they said they were only fishing to pass the time.
I guess it 's a great diversion, for they all do it. They
all bathe, too, every day. We go in with them, the
mules and the horses; probably somewhere else the
Boches are bathing in the same river. Such is life, but
we are extremely lucky to get a chance to wash at all
and I 'm afraid when we move from here, for we shall
soon be moved to poste duty, we shan't have the com-
forts such as are found here.

I mentioned poste work in the last paragraph.

There are two kinds of work for ambulances —
evacuating and poste de secours work. The former
consists in removing the blesses from the back hospitals
to points where they are put on the trains. The
poste de secours work is going up to the point where

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the blesses are dragged from the trenches and carry-
ing them back to the above-mentioned hospitals. Of
course, the poste work is the liveliest and the most
dangerous. We shall be sent up to do that within a
week or so, as they shift about: several months of
poste work and then several months of evacuating.
The Section had done its turn at poste de secours
before I joined it; it has also been evacuating from
here quite a while, so we shall no doubt be sent out
nearer the front pretty soon. That's what we are
here for. We are not a great distance from the lines
now; in fact, shells have come over us and landed right
across the road, but when we move, it will mean the
most dangerous of work, for the roads are full of shell
holes, no doubt, and wild shells get loose now and then.
I '11 write you again soon, but now I 'm going to bed,
— that is, roll up in my blankets on my stretcher,
for there is an early call for to-morrow morning.
Early call means getting your machine over to the
chateau at six o'clock, all ready for the day's work.
It's great fun and I am awfully glad to be here.
Moreover, there is a satisfaction to realize that you
are helping. The French are very appreciative, from
the poilu up to the highest officers. Oh ! I forgot to
mention, in describing our billet, that flies and mos-
quitos are abundant. We all have mosquito nets
which we put over our heads in the evening, making
us all look like the proverbial huckleberry pie on the
railroad restaurant counter. The poilus around us
have adopted our methods, and you see them sitting

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around looking for all the world like Arabs in the
distance. Before closing I might mention also that
besides fishing to pass the time, the poilus en repos
catch foxes, hedgehogs, rabbits, and other animals
and train them. There are two of the cutest little
foxes I have ever seen over across the road in one of
the courtyards. They play around and are just like
little collies until we show up; then they scamper
and get behind a box or a stove and blink at us.
We tried to buy one of them, but the owners are too
fond of them to let them go.

Well, good-night and best love to you and G.

As ever,
Chick
(Charles Baird)

Have not seen George Hollister yet, as he is in
Section 3. Maybe I'll run across him later.

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S. S. Americaine No. 8,
July S, 1916

Dear

I never meant to let so long a time go by without
more than a postal or so. We are back, far back, of
the lines in repose with the tattered remains of our
division. I have a lot that is worth while writing
about, but make allowances if it comes disconnect-
edly. We have just come back from two weeks at
Verdun! Our cars are battered and broken beyond
a year's ordinary service. Barber, though seriously
wounded, is on the road to recovery. No one else
was more than scratched.

The Section we relieved told us what to expect.
It began strong. The first night the fellows worked
through a gas attack. I was off duty and missed out
on one disagreeable experience. One has to breathe
through a little bag affair packed with layers of
cloth and chemicals. The eyes are also protected
with tight-fitting isinglass, which moists over and
makes driving difficult. The road was not shelled that
night, so it might have been worse. The second night
was my go. We rolled all night from the poste de
secours back to the first sorting-station. The poste
was in a little town with the Germans on three sides
of the road and all in full view, which made daylight
going impossible. The day work was evacuating from
sorting-stations to field hospitals. There our work
stopped. English and French sections worked from

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there back to the base hospitals. The road ran out
through fields and a little stretch of woods, French
batteries situated on both sides the entire way; that
is what drew the fire. Four trips between dusk and
dawn were the most possible. The noise of French
fire was terrifying until we learned to distinguish it
from the German arrivees. It is important to know the
difference, and one soon learns. The depart is a sharp
bark and then the whistle diminishing. The arrivees
come in with a slower, increasing whistle and ripping
crash. In noise alone it is more than disagreeable.
The poste de secours was an abri in a cellar of four
walls. Of the town there was scarcely a wall standing:
marmites had done their work well. The road was an
open space between, scalloped and scooped like the
moon in miniature. We would drive up, crawling in
and out of these holes, turn around, get our load and
go. When the place was shelled, we had time to hear
them coming and dive under our cars. The drive back
was harrowing. One was sure to go a little too fast on
a stretch of road that felt smooth and then pitch into
a hole, all but breaking every spring on the body. I '11
never forget the screams of the wounded as they got
rocked about inside. At times a stretcher would break
and we would have to go on as it was. Of course we
would have to drive in darkness, and passing convois
of artillery at a full gallop going in opposite directions
on either side. Each night a bit more of tool box or
mud guard would be taken off. Often I found myself
in a wedge where I had to back and go forward until

242

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FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

a little hole was found to skip through, and then
make a dash for it and take a chance. One night there
was a thunderstorm with vivid lightning and pitch
darkness. The flash of guns and of lightning were as
one and the noise terrific. That night, too, the road
was crowded with ammunition wagons. But worst of
all, it was under shell fire in three places. Traffic be-
came demoralized because of the dead horses and
wrecked wagons smashed up by shrapnel. All our
cars were held up in parts of the road. There is no
feeling of more utter helplessness than being jammed
in between cannon and caissons in a road under shell
fire. No one was hit that night. Two of the men had
to run ahead and cut loose dead horses in order to get
through. . . .

Barber's car was hit the next night. He had stopped
and was crouching by it, which probably saved him.
Subsequently the Germans corrected their range on
the road by the sight of the car, and on our last run it
was level with the ground. The bodies of the wounded
he was carrying mingled with the wreckage. That
night was the climax of danger. Things eased off a bit
after, but the strain was telling and our driving was
not so skillful. Next to the last night I collided with
a huge ravitaillement wagon coming at full gallop on
the wrong side of the road. The entire front of the
car went into bow knots, but I landed clear in safety.
This occurred under the lee of a cliff, so we went in
search with wrecking car the next day. After twenty
hours she was running again, shaky on her wheels, but

243

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

strong in engine. She goes to Paris soon for shop
repairs. Poor old Alice! A wrecked car in so short a
time. Patched with string and wire and straps, she
looks battle-scarred to a degree. Her real battle
souvenirs are five shrapnel balls embedded in the
roof and sides. I don't believe in collecting souvenirs,
but these I could not help !

There were humorous incidents; that is, humorous
when we look back on them, safely in camp. One
goes as follows: Three cars running out to the poste
about thirty yards apart. The whistle of shells and a
great increase in speed in the cars. (Somehow speed
seems to give the feeling of more security.) Road
getting too hot — shells falling between the cars as
they run. First car stopped short and driver jumped
about thirty feet into a trench by the roadside.
Landed in six inches of water and stayed. Car No. 2
stopped, but not short enough to prevent smashing
into tail-board of No. 1. Driver made jump and
splash No. 2 into trench. Ditto for Car No. 3 (me).
Whistle and bang of shell, crash of hitting cars, and
splash of falling men in water. Here we remained until
the "storm blew over."

I am mighty glad we are through and out of it all.
Whatever action we go into again, it cannot be harder
or more dangerous than what we have been through.
That will be impossible. I don't know yet whether I
am glad or not to have had such an experience. It
was all so gigantic and terrifying. It was war in its
worst butchery. We all of us lost weight, but health

244

FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

and morale are O.K., and we are ready for more work
after our repose. When you read this, remember I am
out of it and in less dangerous parts. . . .

The French military is giving half of us forty -eight
hours permission for the Fourth of July. We are going
for a two days' spree in Paris !

My debits to date are one letter from mother of the
7th; one shirt, chocolate, and corduroy suit.

I would rather you did n't pass this letter around
much. It is too hurried and slapdash, and I may have
quite different opinions after we have calmed down a
bit.

Edward
(TinJcham)

P.S. Barber was given the MSdaille militaire —
most coveted of military honors.

245

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

France,, June 30

Dearest "folks at home," abroad — and Grandma!

Four nights ago I had a pretty narrow escape. I can
mention no names here, but this is the gist of the
story : —

I was driving my car with three wounded soldiers
in it along a road that was being shelled. Well, I got
in the midst of a pretty hot shower, so I stopped my
car and got under it. A few minutes later I supposed
it was blowing over, so I got out. I had no sooner done
so than I heard one of those big obus coming, the loud-
est I had ever heard. I ran to the front of my car,
crouching down in front of the radiator. When it
burst it struck the car. My three soldiers were killed.
I was hurt only a little. I am not disfigured in any
way. It just tore my side and legs a bit.

The French treated me wonderfully. I succeeded
in getting the next American Ambulance driven by
Wheeler (a great boy) who took me to the City of

where our poste is. Here I was given first

aid, and the Medecin chef personally conducted me
in an American Ambulance, in the middle of the
night, to a very good hospital. They say I have the
best doctor in France — in Paris.

Well, I woke up the next day in a bed, and have
been recuperating ever since. Every one is wonderful
to me. General Petain, second to Joffre, has stopped
in to shake hands with me, and many are my con-

246

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FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

gratulations, too, for above my bed hangs the M6-
daille militaire, the greatest honor the French can
give any one. Really, I am proud, although I don't
deserve it any more than the rest. Please excuse my
egotism.

Mr. Hill and my French lieutenant come to see me
every day, and some of the boys also. They joke
around here, saying that I am getting so well that they
have lost interest in me and must move on. In three
or four days I go to the hospital at Neuilly where I
can have every comfort.

Of course you won't worry about me. I will be just
as good as new soon, and really this is true.

The Germans peppered the life out of my car. No
one goes over the road in daylight, but the fellows
brought me back the next day a handful of bullets
taken from it, and said they could get me a bushel
more if I desired them.

A , I got your letter; it was great. The first

one that I have received from some one who has
heard from me.

F , thanks for the $ . I am sorry I have

made you so much trouble about the prescription. It
is just my shiftlessness.

For three days I was not allowed to eat or drink and
could hardly move in bed. My spirits were high, too.
I will try to write better and take more pains.

Good-bye,

William

247

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Neuilly-sur-Seine,
July 10, 1916

Well, I am here at Neuilly! This is a wonderful
hospital and they do treat you great ! I am just get-
ting back to normal and have no temperature. The
doctors here are the best in the world . . .

Now I want to ask your advice or permission. When
I get well, in two or three weeks, how would you like
it for me to spend a week resting in some suburb of
London? I would just take a room there and live and
sleep. I have read so much about life in England
that I am dying to try it and I think it would do me
good. I don't think the cost would be heavy and I
will consider it a go if you cable me a loan for the
trip.

When my wounds heal up, which they are fast doing,
I will be just as good as new, no scars at all. I am
very happy here and hope every day that you are as
happy and never worry about me. I surely have given
you a lot of trouble and anxiety, and hope that I will
do always as you say after this. The best of my ex-
perience is that I have never once regretted this great
trip, and I think I have done a small part of a great
work, and my Medaille shows what the French think of
my services. I will throw aside modesty for the mo-
ment. It is given for discipline and valor, and by the
way, what amuses me, there is an annual pension of
one hundred francs. I have been treated wonderfully
since I had it given me. The French keep me in
official quarters and give me officer's grub, which is

248

FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

about one hundred per cent better than the soldiers'.
I am having some wonderful experiences. . . .

I am still continuing my diary, and I assure you it
is full of thrills. I am the only ambulance boy who has
been given a Medaille, and I am told that Mr. Bals-
ley, an American aviator, is the only other American
who has it. Well, enough of this conceit.

Excuse writing; written in great haste in bed.

Please cable me some money if you will permit
me to go to England for a week. Perhaps I can get
to go with me.

Lots of love to all; my best to Grandma.

William

[The following paragraphs are from a letter written
to the family of William Barber by his Section leader,
Lovering Hill.]

. . . William was wounded on the night of the 27th
of June while bringing back wounded from the poste
de secours.

It was a dangerous road, and seeing some shelling on
the road ahead of him, he had stopped to await its
cessation. He was about to start up again when a
shell fell a few feet away, many small fragments of
which struck him, one large one striking him a glanc-
ing blow on the side. He ran back a few yards and
was picked up by one of his comrades who brought
him to the dressing-station at Verdun, where I was
at the time. There his wounds were dressed; one of
them proved to be serious.

249

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

I got in touch at once with the Midecin division-
naire, who is the chief of the Service de Sante of our
Division, who immediately took charge of the case
and personally accompanied your son in the am-
bulance which brought him to Vadelaincourt —
the nearest surgical ambulance, twenty-five kilo-
meters back. There he awakened a very well-known
Parisian physician and surgeon, Dr. Lucas Cham-
pioniere, who operated at once.

As soon as I could leave my work, at six o'clock the
next morning, accompanied by our French lieuten-
ant, I went to Vadelaincourt to see William, who
was just coming to from the anaesthetic. The doctor
told me it was serious because the fragment had cut
into the peritoneum, but without injuring the in-
testine — the danger being in the chances of peri-
tonitis setting in; that he could tell me in forty-eight
hours whether there would be the danger of this com-
plication. On your son's insistence, and on my own
judgment, I decided not to cause you needless an-
guish by cabling until his case should have been
judged. On the third day I was told he was out of
danger, so I advised William to cable you, and I cabled
his brother myself.

One of his other wounds consisted in a small splin-
ter that lodged in his lung, but this was not considered
by the doctor to be the cause of any concern, the only
wound which might have dangerous consequences
being the abdominal one.

The Section was moved away shortly after, so that

250

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FOUR LETTERS FROM VERDUN

July 1st was the last day on which I saw him, but I
have telephoned for news daily, and have been al-
ways told he was doing well.

Before closing I wish to tell you how courage-
ous he has been throughout, not only after he was
wounded, when he showed the most splendid pluck,
but before, when he was doing really dangerous work
with enthusiasm and coolness. The French authori-
ties have recognized this in awarding him the Medaille
militaire, the highest medal for military valor in
France.

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

Armies de YEst

G. Q. G., le U Mai 1916

Etat-Major General

Neuilly-sur-Seine

Le General Commandant en Chef a Monsieur Piatt
Andrew, Inspecteur General du Service aux Ar-
mees de l'h6pital Americain de Neuilly

Je vous remercie vivement pour votre offre
d'une nouvelle section automobile, qui va porter a
cinq le nombre de vos formations sanitaires aux
armees.

Je tiens a vous exprimer ma satisfaction de Tceuvre
accomplie par vos volontaires qui n*ont cesse, en
toutes circonstances, de faire preuve de courage,
d'endurance et de devouement.

Les bons resultats donnes par votre organisation
sont dus, pour une bonne part, a votre activity et
votre zele inlassables.

Agreez, Monsieur, Texpression de ma considera-
tion tres distinguee.

252

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

[TRANSLATION]

Armies of the East
Grand Headquarters, 21/. May, 1916

General Staff

The General Commanding in Chief to Monsieur Piatt Andrew, In-
spector General of the Field Service of the American Hospital of
Neuilly.

I thank you warmly for your offer of an additional automobile sec-
tion, which will increase to five the number of your sanitary units with
the army.

I desire to express to you my satisfaction with the work performed
by your volunteers who have unremittingly, under all conditions, given
proof of their courage, endurance, and devotion.

The excellent results achieved by your units are due in large measure
to your own untiring activity and zeal.

Accept, Monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished considera-
tion.

253

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Ministere de la Guerre

Sous-Secretariat d'Htat du
Serviee de Saute Militaire

REPUBLIQUE Francaise

l*re Division Teehn.

Paris, le 31 octobre 1916

Monsieur, —

Mon attention a ete appelee sur les services
eminents rendus au Service de Sante par la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 2, que vous
dirigez, et particulierement sur le zele et le courage
avec lequel elle a porte secours a nos blesses, dans la
region de Pont-a-Mousson.

J'ai appris avec plaisir que votre formation dans
son ensemble, et la plupart de ses membres a titre
particulier, avaient ete cites a l'ordre du jour de la
73*me Division de Reserve.

Je me fais un devoir d'adresser a la Section Sani-
taire Automobile Americaine N° 2, les sinceres re-
merciements du Departement de la Guerre.

(Signe) Justin Godard

Monsieur Salisbury
Chef de la Section Sanitaire Automobile N° 2

PONT-A-MOUSSON

[TRANSLATION]

War Department

Office of the Under Secretary Republique Prajccaise

Military Sanitation Service

First Technical Division

Paris, 31 October, 19U
Monsieur, —

My attention has been called to the eminent services rendered
to the Sanitation Service by American Automobile Sanitary Section

254

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

No. 2, which is under your direction, and especially to the zeal and courage
with which it carried succour to our wounded in the Pont-a-Mousson
district.

I have learned with pleasure that your unit as a whole, and the
greater number of its members, have been mentioned in the orders of the
day of the 73rd Reserve Division.

I make it my duty to extend to American Automobile Sanitary Sec-
tion No. 2, the sincere gratitude of the War Department.

(Signed) Justin Godabd

Monsieur Salisbury
Commanding Automobile Sanitary Section No. 2.

PONT-A-MoUSSON

255

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Ministere
de la Guerre

Cabinet Republique FraN£AISE

du
Sous-Secretaire d'fitat

Paris, le 23 mai 1916

Monsieur, —

Je connais et apprecie la part tres active que
vous et vos amis avez pris aux propagandes f aites en
Amerique, depuis le debut de la guerre, en f aveur de la
cause du Droit que defendent la France et ses Allies.
Je sais, en particulier, vos efforts pour aboutir a la
manifestation de la sympathie de vos concitoyens pour
nos vaillants soldats, par une cooperation effective
et pratique a la tache du Service de Sante francais.
Aussi je tiens a vous exprimer, d'une facon speciale,
toute la satisfaction que donnent a mon Departement,
depuis leur entree en service aux Armees, les Sections
sanitaires automobiles de l'Ambulanee americaine.

Grace non seulement a leur excellent organisation
materielle, mais encore et surtout au devouement
courageux du personnel d'elite que nous a envoye
votre Pays pour les diriger, ces Sections contribuent,
de la f agon la plus heureuse, a, attenuer les souffrances
de nos blesses, en abregeant les heures si douloureuses
qui s'ecoulent entre le moment ou le soldat tombe sur
le champ de bataille et celui ou il peut recevoir, dans
des conditions convenables, les soins qu'exige son etat.

Veuillez done agreer, pour vous, Monsieur, et
transmettre a vos amis d'Amerique l'assurance de ma
prof onde gratitude, pour Tceuvre que vous avez si par-

256

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

faitement concue et realisee, et dont vos compatriotes
continuent cT assurer l'entretien en personnel et en
materiel, avec autant de vaillance que de generosit6.
Agreez, Monsieur, l'assurance de ma consideration
distinguee.

(Signe) Justin Godard

Monsieur Piatt-Andeew

[TRANSLATION]
War
Department

Office Republique FBANgAiss

of the
Under-Secretary

Paris, 23 May, 1916.
Monsieur, —

1 know and value highly the very active part that you and your
friends have taken in the propaganda carried on in America, ever since
the outbreak of war, in favour of the cause of Right, which France and
her Allies are defending. I know, in particular, of your efforts to arrive
at a manifestation of the sympathy of your fellow citizens for our gallant
soldiers, by effective and practical cooperation in the work of the French
Sanitary Service. Therefore I am desirous of expressing to you, with
special emphasis, the perfect satisfaction which the Automobile Sani-
tary Sections of the American Ambulance have given my department
since they first entered the service of our armies.

Thanks not only to their excellent material organization, but beyond
even that, to the courageous devotion of the picked personnel which
your country has sent us to lead them, these Sections are contributing
in the most gratifying fashion toward lessening the sufferings of our
wounded by shortening the agonizing hours that elapse between the
time when the soldier falls on the battlefield and that when he is able to
receive, under suitable conditions, the care that his condition demands.

Pray, therefore, Monsieur, accept for yourselves and convey to your
friends in America the assurance of my profound gratitude for the work
which you have planned and carried on so perfectly, and of which your
compatriots continue to ensure the support, both in personnel and in sup-
plies, with no less gallantry than generosity.

Accept, Monsieur, the assurance of my distinguished consideration.

(Signed) Justin Godaed

Monsieur Piatt Andeew

257

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Chambre
des Deputes REPUBUQUE FraN£AISE

Paris, le 6 abut 1915

Monsieur le Directeur, —

J'ai l'honneur de vous remercier, au nom de la
Commission d'Hygiene publique, des soins eclaires et
devoues que 1' Ambulance Americaine prodigue a nos
blesses de Pont-a-Mousson.

Dans les tristes heures que nous vivons, il nous est
particulierement doux de savoir que des mains amies
s'empressent autour de ceux des notres qui si coura-
geusement versent leur sang pour la defence de notre
Pays.

Veuillez agreer, Monsieur le Directeur, l'assurance
de ma haute consideration.

(Signe) Le President
Dr. H. Doizy Dr. H. Doizy

Maison de Convalescence
Sahcelles (Seine et Oise)

[TRANSLATION]

Chamber
of Deputies Republique Francaise

Paris, 6 August, 1915
Monsieur le Directeur, —

I have the honor to thank you, in the name of the Commission
of Public Health, for the enlightened and devoted attention which the
American Ambulance is lavishing upon our wounded at Pont-a-Mousson.
In the distressing hours that we are passing through, it is particularly
sweet to us to know that friendly hands are zealously employed about
those of our troops who are shedding their blood so fearlessly in defence
of our country.

Pray accept, Monsieur le Directeur, the assurance of my distinguished
consideration.

(Signed) The President
Dh. h. Doizt Dr. H. Doizy

Convalescents' Home
Sabcblles (Seine et Oise)

258

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

Detachement d'Armee
de Belgique

£tat-Major

Au Q. G. le 5 mat 1915
1* Bureau

Le General Putz, Commandant le Detachement

d'Armee de Belgique,
a Monsieur Andrew, Inspecteur du Service des

Ambulances de l'Hopital Americain

Monsieur, —

Mon attention a ete appelee sur les precieux
services rendus au detachement d'Armee de Belgique
par la Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine qui
lui est attachee.

Cette Section a du, en effet, concurremment avec la
Section Anglaise, assurer l'evacuation d'Elverdinghe
sur Poperinghe de nombreux militaires blesses au
cours des recents combats. Malgre le bombardement
d'Elverdinghe, des routes qui y accedent, et de l'Am-
bulance meme, cette evacuation s'est effectue nuit et
jour, sans interruption, et dans d'excellentes condi-
tions de promptitude et de regularite.

Je ne saurais trop louer le courage et le devoue-
ment dont a fait preuve le personnel de la Section et
je vous serais oblige de vouloir bien lui transmettre
mes felicitations et mes remerciements pour 1'erTort
physique considerable qu'il a si genereusement con-
senti, et les signales services qu'il a rendus.

Veuillez agreer, Monsieur, l'expression de ma con-
sideration tres distinguee.

(Signe) Putz

259

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

[TRANSLATION]

Detachment of the Army
of Belgium

Staff
1st d ~ Headquarters, 5 May, 1915.

General Putz,

Commanding the Detachment of the Army of Belgium,
to Monsieur Andrew,

Inspector of the Ambulance Service of the American Hospital.

Monsieur, —

My attention has been called to the valuable services rendered
to this army by the American Automobile Sanitary Section, which is
attached to it.

This Section did, in fact, in conjunction with the English Section, safe-
guard the removal from Elverdinghe to Poperinghe of numerous soldiers
wounded in recent battles. Despite the bombardment of Elverdinghe,
of the roads leading to it, and of the Ambulance itself, this removal was
proceeded with, night and day, without interruption, and with particular
efficiency as to speed and regularity.

I cannot possibly praise too highly the courage and devotion mani-
fested by the members of the Section, and I should be obliged to you if
you would kindly transmit to them my congratulations and my thanks
for the great physical effort which they so generously consented to make,
and for the notable services they have rendered.

Pray accept, Monsieur, the assurance of my most distinguished con-
sideration.

(Signed) Putz

260

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

EXTRAIT DE L'ORDRE D'ETAPES
N° 661 POUR LA JOURNfiE DU
6 JUIN 1916

Felicitations :

Le General D. E. S. adresse ses felicitations
au Personnel militaire et aux infirmieres, de PH. O. E.
20, pour le devouement et le sang-froid dont il a fait
preuve le Ier Juin, pendant le bombardement de
Bar-le-Duc par les avions allemands, au cours du-
quel les Officiers et Hommes de troupe dont les noms
suivent se sont fait plus particulierement remarquer :

• • . • • • • • * *

Les Militaires de la Section Sanitaire Americaine
N° 2, qui resterent tous a decouvert pendant la
duree du bombardement et se porterent, a chaque
bombe qui eclatait, au secours des victimes, sans
souci du danger dont ils etaient menaces.

EXTRACT FROM ORDRE D'ETAPES,
NO. 661, FOR 6 JUNE, 1916

Congratulations :

General D. E. S. offers his congratulations to the military per-
sonnel and nurses of H. O. E. 20 on the devotion and sang-froid which
they displayed on June 1, during the bombardment of Bar-le-Duc by Ger-
man air-ships, in the course of which the officers and men whose names
follow particularly distinguished themselves:

The military members of American Sanitary Section No. 2, all of whom
remained exposed throughout the bombardment, and at every explosion
of a bomb, hastened to the assistance of the victims, regardless of the
danger with which they were threatened.

261

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Au Q. G., le 20 juillet 1915

lirt Arrive
lShne Division

£tat~Major

ler Bureau

Ordre de la Division N° 485

Le General Commandant la Division cite a 1' ordre:
"Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine
N°2

"Composee de volontaires, amis de notre
pays, n'a cesse de se faire remarquer par Pentrain, le
courage et le zele de tons ses membres qui, insouciants
du danger, se sont employes sans repit a secourir
nos blesses, dont ils se sont acquis la reconnaissance
et ramitie."

Le General Lebocq
Commandant la 73eme Division
(Signe) Lebocq

First Army
73rd Division

Staff

First Bureau

[TRANSLATION]

Headquarters, 20 July, 1915

Divisional Order No. 485

The General commanding the Division "mentions" in general orders:
" American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 2

" Composed of volunteers, friends of our country, has constantly
attracted favorable notice by the enthusiasm, the courage, and the zeal
of all its members, who, regardless of danger, have been employed, with-
out respite, in rescuing our wounded, whose gratitude and affection they
have won."

General Lebocq
Commanding the 73rd Division
(Signed) Lebocq

262

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

VIl'me Armie
66hn* Division

6 novembre 1915

Le General Serret, Commandant la 66kme Divi-
sion d'Inf anterie, cite a l'Ordre de la Division : —

"La Section Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 et son
Chef Mr. Lovering Kill

' A de nouveau affirme son inlassable devoue-
ment en assurant avec une froide cranerie et dans des
cir Constances tres correctes pendant les journees
et les nuits des 15, 16 et 17 octobre 1915, dans une
region difficilement practicable et en partie battue
par le feu de l'ennemi, l'evacuation de nombreux
blesses.'"

[TRANSLATION]

Seventh Army
66th Division

November 6, 1915

General Serret Commanding the 66th Infantry Division, "mentions"
in general orders: —

" The American Sanitary Section No. 3, and its commander, Mr.
Lovering Hill

" ' Has demonstrated anew its unwearying devotion, by safeguard-
ing with cool audacity and in perfect order, during the days and nights
of October 15, 16, and 17, 1915, in a district in which such movements
were very dangerous, and which was partly within range of the enemy's
guns, the removal of numerous wounded.' "

263

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

[TELEGRAM]

Nancy, £ juillet 1915

Le Pref et de Nancy a Ambulance Americaine, Pont-a-
Mousson

En ce jour ou vous celebrez fete votre inde-
pendance nationale, a l'heure meme ou dans des rudes
combats la France defend son independance contre
un ennemi dont la folie de domination menace la
liberte de tous les peuples et dont les procedes bar-
bares menacent les conquetes morales de la civilisa-
tion, vous adresse expression profondes sympathies
franchises pour votre grande et genereuse nation, et
je saisis cette occasion vous presenter nouvelles assur-
ances gratitude emue populations lorraines pour
devouement admirable de tous les membres Ambu-
lance Americaine de Pont-a-Mousson.

MlRMAN

[TRANSLATION]

Nancy, £ July, 1915

Prefect of Nancy to American Ambulance, Pont-a-Mousson

On this day when you celebrate anniversary your national inde-
pendence, at the very hour when in hard-fought battles France defends
her independence against a foe whose mad lust for world-domination
threatens liberty of all nations, and whose savage deeds threaten moral
conquests of civilization, I extend you profound French affection for
your great and generous nation, and seize opportunity to offer renewed
assurances heartfelt gratitude people of Lorraine, for admirable devo-
tion of all members American Ambulance, Pont-a-Mousson.

Mirman

264

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

yrfrne Arm&e

66?me Division d' Infant* Q. G., le 21 Janvier 1916

Medecin Divisionnaire

Le Medecin Principal de 2 Classe Georges, Medecin
Divisionnaire de la 66eme Division d'Infanterie,

a Monsieur le Lieutenant Commandant la Section
Sanitaire Americaine N° 3

J'ai pu voir a l'ceuvre journellement depuis
sept mois la Section Sanitaire Automobile Ameri-
caine N° 3 qui est a la disposition de la 66eme Di-
vision depuis pres d'un an. Elle a eu a operer
constamment dans une region dont les routes sont
particulierement difficiles. Elle a eu a supporter
a maintes reprises un travail absolument intensif de
jour et de nuit, du a di verses chaudes actions mili-
taires ay ant entraine en quelques jours un chiffre
eleve d'evacuations.

En toutes cir Constances, tous et chacun ont fait
leur devoir, — et plus que leur devoir, — avec un
parfait mepris personnel du danger, avec une sim-
plicite touchante, avec un imperturbable sang-froid
n'ayant d'egal que 1'empressement f oncierement gene-
reux des secours inlassablement apportes.

La mort d'un conducteur tue a son volant, la
blessure grave d'un autre conducteur contractee au
cours de son service, temoignent encore bien plus que
les citations a l'ordre du jour decernees a la Section et
a un nombre eleve de ses membres, de la fagon dont
elle a compris ses devoirs et tenu a les remplir.

265

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Au moment ou cette Section, si bien dirigee par
vous et par le lieutenant Lovering Hill, quitte la
Division pour une autre destination, j'ai a coeur de
lui adresser, — au nom de tous nos blesses et ma-
lades, — mes remerciments les plus vif s pour la f agon
veritablement admirable dont elle s'est acquittee de
son service.

(Signe) Georges

Seventh Army

[TRANSLATION]

66th Infantry Division Headquarters, January 21, 1916

Divisional Medical Officer

Georges, Principal Physician of the Second Class, Divisional Medical

Officer of the 66th Infantry Division,
to Monsieur le Lieutenant commanding American Sanitary Section

No. 3.

I have had the opportunity daily for seven months to see at work
the American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 3, which has been at
the disposal of the 66th Division for nearly a year past. The Section has
had to operate constantly in a district where the roads are particularly
bad. It has had on many occasions to work day and night under the
greatest possible strain, due to the fact that successive fierce actions have
necessitated a large number of removals in a few days.

Under all conditions one and all have done their duty — • and more than
their duty — with an absolute disregard of danger, with a touching
simplicity, with an imperturbable sang-froid equalled only by the abso-
lutely single-hearted zeal with which they have unwearyingly given their
assistance.

The death of one driver, killed at his post, the severe wound of an-
other driver received in the course of his service, bear even more elo-
quent witness than the citations in the orders of the day awarded to the
Section and to a large number of its members, to the way in which they
have understood their duties and striven to fulfil them.

At the moment when this Section, so ably led by you and by Lieu-
tenant Lovering Hill is about to leave the Division for another field of
operation, I have it at heart to offer to you all, in the name of all our
wounded and sick, my warmest thanks for the truly admirable way in
which you have done your work.

(Signed) Georges

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

121'me Division

S. P. 76

Le Medecin Aide-Major de lere Classe Rocher, Mede-

cin-Chef du G. B. D.
a Monsieur le Lieutenant Commandant la S. S. A. A.

N°7.

J'ai Thonneur de vous faire connaitre que pend-
ant toute la duree du dernier bombardement dans le
secteur de Vic-Fontenoy, la Section Sanitaire Automo-
bile Americaine N° 1 a assure le service souvent peril-
leux de l'evacuation des blesses avec sang-froid, zele
et devouement. Tous vos conducteurs sont dignes
d'eloge, et je signale particulierement a votre atten-
tion le conducteur Woolverton, qui, malgre le bom-
bardement tres rapproche de sa voiture, a continue
son service avec la plus belle assurance.

(Signe) Dr. Rocher

[TRANSLATION]
121st Division

S. P. 76

Rocher, Assistant Physician of the 1st Class, Physician-in-Chief of the

G. B. D.
to Monsieur the Lieutenant commanding the S. S. A. A. No. 7.

I have the honor to inform you that throughout the last bom-
bardment in the sector of Vic-Fontenoy, the American Automobile
Sanitary Section No. 1 safeguarded the often very hazardous process
of removing the wounded, with coolness, zeal, and devotion. All your
drivers are deserving of praise, and I call particularly to your attention
Driver Woolverton, who, notwithstanding the bombardment very near
his car, continued his service with the most splendid self-possession.

(Signed) Dr. Rocher

267

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Direction de VArriere

Service Automobile

— ; Vittel, le 8 juillet 1916

Inspection Permanente

des

RSgions de VEst

Le Capitaine de Montravel, Inspecteur permanent
des Services Automobiles des Regions de Test a
Monsieur Piatt Andrew, Inspecteur General des
Ambulances Americaines a Neuilly.

Cher Monsieur et ami, —

Vous savez combien je suis fier d'avoir ete
le premier a apprecier les vaillants jeunes gens que
votre genereux pays nous envoy ait, d'avoir pu ob-
tenir Tenvoi de votre premiere section sur la terre
d 'Alsace, et enfin de conserver comme un titre de
gloire, le nom de "Pere des Sections Americaines"
que me donnerent spontanement ces nobles jeunes
hommes le jour ou ils apprirent leur depart pour
Y Alsace.

L'amitie sincere de leur infatigable Inspecteur
General m'est aussi bien precieuse.

Mes occupations m'ont empeche malheureuse-
ment de revoir vos courageuses sections qui ont si
bien su prouver par leurs actes que j'avais raison
lorsque, des le debut, je me suis porte garant pour
elles. D'autre part, vos travaux absorbants vous
ont oblige vous-meme a espacer vos bonnes visites.
Mais voila qu'aujourd'hui votre aimable envoi re-
nouvelle le souvenir de notre union etroite et en
resserre encore les liens.

268

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

Merci done de tout cceur, cher Monsieur et ami;
souvenez-vous qu'a Vittel vous avez un arret obliga-
toire a chacun de vos passages, et que cet arret pro-
curer a utie grande joie a

Votre entrerement devoue

(Signe) de Montravel

[TRANSLATION]

Headquarters of the Rear
Automobile Service

Vittel, 8 July, 1916

Permanent Inspection
Office of the Eastern District

Captain de Montravel, Permanent Inspector of Automobile Service in
the Eastern District to Monsieur Piatt Andrew, Inspector-General of
the American Ambulances at Neuilly.

Dear Monsieur and friend, —

. . . You know how proud I am of having been the first to appre-
ciate the gallant young men whom your noble-hearted country sent to us,
of having succeeded in having your first section sent to Alsatian territory,
and, lastly, of bearing, as a symbol of honour, the name of Father of the
American Sections, which was spontaneously bestowed upon me by those
noble young men on the day when they learned that they were to go
to Alsace.

The sincere friendship of their indefatigable Inspector-General is also
very precious to me.

My duties have unhappily prevented me from visiting again your
fearless sections, which have proved so conclusively by their deeds that
I was right when, at the very beginning, I became their sponsor. On
the other hand, your own absorbing tasks have compelled you to make
your welcome visits very rare. . . . But to-day your pleasant message
revivifies the memory of our close connection, and tightens its bonds
afresh.

Thanks, with all my heart, dear Monsieur and friend; remember that
you are bound to break your journey at Vittel whenever you pass
through, and that such break will give great pleasure to

Faithfully yours

(Signed) de Montravel

269

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

EXTRAIT DE L'ORDRE D'fiTAPES

N° 661 POUR LA JOURNfiE

DU 6 JUIN 1916

Felicitations : —

Le General D. E. S. adresse ses felicitations au
Personnel militaire et aux infirmieres de l'H.O.E. 20,
pour le devouement et le sang-froid dont il a fait
preuve le ler Juin, pendant le bombardement de
Bar-le-Duc par les avions allemands, au cours
duquel les officiers et hommes de troupe dont les
noms suivent se sont fait plus particulierement re-
marquer:

Les Militaires de la Section Sanitaire Americaine
N° 2, qui resterent tous a decouvert pendant la
duree du bombardement et se porterent, a chaque
bombe qui eclatait, au secours des vistimes, sans
souci du danger dont ils etaient menaces.

[TRANSLATION]

EXTRACT FROM THE ORDRE D'fiTAPES
FOR 6 JUNE. 1916

Congratulations : —

General D. E. S. offers his congratulations to the military per-
sonnel and the nurses of H. O. E. 20, on the devotion and presence of
mind which they displayed on 1 June, during the bombardment of
Bar-le-Duc by German airships, in the course of which those officers
and men of the troops whose names follow made themselves specially
conspicuous:

The members of American Sanitary Section No. 2, all of whom re-
mained unsheltered during the bombardment, and at every explosion of
a shell, went to the assistance of the wounded, heedless of the danger
which threatened them.

270

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

2ime Armee

Direction du Service

de Santi du

Growpement E

EXTRAIT D'ORDRE N° 78

En execution des prescriptions reglementaires le
Docteur du Service de Sante du 6me Corps
d'Armee, cite a l'ordre du Service de Sante du
6me Corps d'Armee: —

La Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine

N° 1

"Sous la direction du Lieutenant Robert
de Kersauson de Pennendreff, et des Officiers Ameri-
cains, Herbert Townsend et Victor White, la Section
Sanitaire Americaine N° 1, composee entierement de
volontaires, a assure remarquablement le service
quotidien des evacuations en allant chercher les
blesses le plus loin possible, malgre un bombarde-
ment parfois violent.

S'est particulierement distinguee le 11 juillet 1916
en traversant a plusieurs reprises une nappe de gaz
toxiques sous un feu intense sans aucun repit pendant
32 heures pour emmener aux ambulances les in-
toxiques."

(Signe) Toubert

Q. G. le 26 juillet 1916
Le Directeur du Service de Santi

271

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

[TRANSLATION!

Sd Army

Headquarters of

the Sanitary Service

of Group E

EXTRACT FROM ORDER NO. 78

In fulfillment of regulations the Physician of the Sanitary Service of the
6th Army Corps "mentions" in orders of the day of the 6th Army
Corps: —

American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 1

" Under the direction of Lieutenant Robert de Kersauson de
Pennendreff, and of the American officers, Herbert Townsend and Victor
White, American Sanitary Section No. 1, composed entirely of volun-
teers, has been wonderfully efficient in the daily service of removing the
wounded, going very long distances to fetch them, despite a bombard-
ment sometimes of great intensity.

It especially distinguished itself on July 11, 1916, by passing through
a sheet of poisonous gas again and again, without respite, under a sus-
tained fire, for thirty-two hours, bringing the men prostrated by the gas
to the ambulances."

(Signed) Toubert

Headquarters, 26 July, 1916

Chief of the Sanitary Service

272

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

lev C. A. C.

Di/F 'CCttOTi

du Q. G.t le 19 juillet 1916

Service de Sante

No 5161

Le Medecin Principal de lere Classe Lasnet, Direc-
teur du Service de Sante du ler Corps d'Armee
Colonial, au Lieutenant de Kersauson, Com-
mandant la S. S. A. U. 1.

Au moment ou la S. S. A. U. 1 est appelee a
suivre une autre destination, le Directeur du Service
de Sante adresse au Lieutenant de Kersauson et a
tout le personnel de la Section ses chaleureuses felici-
tations pour le zele, le courage et l'activite inlassables
dont tous ont fait preuve pendant leur sejour sur le
secteur du ler C. A. C.

Les Troupes Coloniales ont su apprecier le devoue-
ment des volontaires Americains et elles leur en
gardent une vive reconnaissance. C'est avec un pro-
fond regret qu'elles les ont vu partir et elles n'oubli-
eront pas de longtemps les conducteurs hardis, habiles
et empresses qui venaient enlever leurs blesses jusque
dans les postes de secours les plus avances.

(Signe) Lasnet

273

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

[TRANSLATION]

1st C.A.C.

Headquarters

of the Headquarters, 19 July, 1916

Sanitary Service

No. 5161

The Physician-in-Chief of the First Class Lasnet, Superintendent of the
Sanitary Service of the First Colonial Army Corps,, to Lieutenant de
Kersauson, Commanding S. S. A. U. 1.

At the moment when the American Sanitary Section U. 1 is called
upon to proceed to another field of action, the Superintendent of the
Sanitary Service expresses to Lieutenant de Kersauson and the whole
personnel of the Section his warm congratulations upon the unwearying
zeal, courage, and activity of which one and all have given abundant
proof during their stay in the sector of the First C. A. C.

The Colonial troops have not failed to appreciate at its true value the
devotion of the American volunteers, and are profoundly grateful to
them therefor. It was with deep regret that they learned of their depart-
ure, and they will not soon forget the fearless, skilful, and enthusiastic
drivers who went even to the most advanced postes de seeours to collect
their wounded.

(Signed) Lasnet

274

TRIBUTES AND CITATIONS

EXTRAIT D'ORDRE N° 80

En execution des prescriptions reglementaires le Di-
recteur du Service de Sant6 du 6e Corps d'Armee,
cite a l'Ordre du Service de Sante du 6e Corps
d'Armee

La Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine
N° 8 pour le motif suivant: —

"Sous la direction du Lieutenant Paroissien,
Robert Charles, et du Commandant Adjoint Ameri-
caine Mason, Austin Blake, la Section Sanitaire
Americaine N° 8, composee entierement de volon-
taires, a assure remarquablement le service quoti-
dien des evacuations en allant chercher le plus loin
possible les blesses, malgre un bombardement par-
fois violent.

" S'est particulierement distinguee le 23 juin, en tra-
versant a plusieurs reprises la nappe de gaz toxiques
sous un feu intense sans aucun repit pendant plu-
sieurs heures pour emmener au plus vite aux ambu-
lances les intoxiques."

Q. G. le k Ao&t 1916
P. 0. le Directeur du Service de Sante

275

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

EXTRACT FROM ORDER NO. 80

In carrying out the prescribed regulations the Director of the Sanitary
Service of the 6th Army Corps "mentions" in the orders of the day
of that service

The American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 8, for the reason
following: —

" Under the direction of Lieutenant Robert Charles Paroissien and
of the American Deputy-Commandant Austin Blake Mason, the Ameri-
can Sanitary Section No. 8, composed entirely of volunteers, has been
wonderfully efficient in the daily service of removing the wounded,
going very long distances to fetch them, despite a bombardment some-
times of great intensity.

" It especially distinguished itself on June 23, by passing through the
sheet of poisonous gas again and again, without respite, under a sus-
tained fire, for many hours, bringing the men prostrated by the gas to
the ambulances as speedily as possible.

Headquarters, k August, 1916
P.O. The Director of the Sanitary Service

276

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THE NEW HEADQUARTERS

As a result of the extension of the Field Service of the American
Ambulance, the headquarters of the field ambulance sections
have been transferred from the Lycee Pasteur, Neuilly-sur-Seine,
to 21 rue Raynouard, Paris (XVI), and are installed in the beau-
tiful premises generously placed at their disposal for the duration
of the war by the Hottinguer family.

This house at Passy has, since the beginning of the last cen-
tury, been the property of the family of Benjamin Delessert, the
great philosopher, who founded the Caisse d'Epargne in Paris.
On the extensive neighboring land belonging to him he estab-
lished a refinery where beetroot sugar was made for the first time.
The Emperor Napoleon, as an appreciation of this discovery,
created him a Baron of the Empire and Chevalier of the Legion
d'Honneur.

There exist in the park at Passy three ferruginous springs,
the waters of which were famous even in the seventeenth cen-
tury. Madame de Sevigne speaks of them in a letter to her daugh-
ter, dated 1676. Later a thermal establishment was organized.
Jean- Jacques Rousseau, who lived on the edge of the park, speaks
in his "Confessions" of taking the waters. Voltaire was also an
assiduous visitor. From 1777 to 1785 Benjamin Franklin often
came to take the cure, and walked in the shade of these wooded
acres. It is even said that he made here his first experiment with a
lightning-rod. More recently, history recounts that in this same
spot Zola wrote his book " Pages d'Amour." The house was occu-
pied for a long time by the Bartholdi family and was frequently
visited by the great sculptor of the Statue of Liberty, given to
the United States by France. A description of the place is given
in a book on "Old Paris" by Georges Cain, and also in a book
called "Paris," by Andre Hallays. The property belongs at the
present day to the Hottinguer family and their descendants, heirs
of the Delesserts.

SOME OF THE MEN OF THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE

FIELD SERVICE AT THEIR HEADQUARTERS

AT 21 RUE RAYNOUARD, PARIS

THE "CROIX DE GUERRE"

>^^Aa

CITATIONS "

Roger M. L. Balbiani
William M. Barber
Edward O. Bartlett
Robert Bowman
Leslie Buswell
Joshua G B. Campbell
A. Graham Carey
John W. Clark
Edmund J. Curley
Benjamin F. Dawson
Stanley Dell
David B. Douglass
Luke C. Doyle
Brooke Leonard Edwards
Powel Fenton
Giles B. Francklyn
Stephen Galatti
J. Halcott Glover
H. Dudley Hale
Richard X. Hall
Sigurd Hansen
Lovering Hill
Lawrence W. Hitt
George M. Hollister
Everett Jackson
Edward J. Kelley
Owen Kenan
Philip C. Lewis

Walter Lovell
James R. McConnell
Douglas MacMonagle
William T. Martin
Joseph Mellen
Francis D. Ogilvie
Waldo Peirce
Thomas W. Potter
Tracy J. Putnam
Beverly Rantoul
Dura nt Rice
Carroll Riggs
George Roeder
Edward Atan D. Salisbury
Roswell Sanders
Bernard M. P. Schroder
James M. Sponagle
Henry M. Suckley
John C Taylor
Edward I. Tinkham
Herbert P. Townsend
Donald M. Walden
J. Marquand Walker
Walter H. Wheeler
Victor G. White
Harold B Willis
William H. Woolverton

CITATION AU 36eme CORPS D'ARMEE

BALBIANI, Roger M. L., Conducteur, puis chef
d'une section sanitaire etrangere : —

"A deploye depuis plusieurs mois un grand de-
vouement; s'est particulierement distingue du 22
Avril 1915 lors de l'attaque allemande au moyen
de gazs asphyxiants et pendant les bombardements
de Dunkerque."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 36th ARMY CORPS

BALBIANI, Roger M. L., Driver, afterwards in command of a foreign
Sanitary Section: For many months past has displayed the most de-
voted courage; distinguished himself particularly on April 22, 1915,
at the time of the German attack with asphyxiating gas, and during
the bombardments of Dunkirk.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE

64eme DIVISION

BARTLETT, Edward, Conducteur volontaire de la
S. S. Americaine N° 4: —

" S'est particulierement distingue par son sang-
froid, son courage et son devouement en concou-
rant, du 18 au 30 Juin 1916, aux evacuations des
blesses des postes de secours, dans un secteur battu
par l'artillerie ennemie."

"MENTIONED" IN ORDERS OF THE SANITARY
SERVICE, 64th DIVISION

BARTLETT, Edward, Volunteer Driver of American S. S. No 4: Distin-
guished himself particularly by his coolness, courage, and devotion,
while assisting, between the 18th and 30th of June, 1916, in the removal
of wounded from postes de secours, in a sector swept by the enemy
artillery.

280

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE

73eme DIVISION

BUSWELL, Leslie, de la S. S. A. A., Conducteur tres
consciencieux, tres devoue et tres courageux.

Se presentant pour toutes les missions dange-
reuses.

Conduite remarquable pendant le bombarde-
ment du 22 Juillet.

"MENTIONED" IN ORDERS OF THE SANITARY SERVICE

OF THE 73d DIVISION

BUSWELL, Leslie, of the S. S. A. A. A most conscientious, faithful,
and fearless driver. Offers himself for all dangerous duties. Note-
worthy conduct during the bombardment of July 22.

CITATION ler CORPS D'ARMEE COLONIALE
SERVICE DE SANTE

CAMPBELL, Joshua, Conducteur. Engage volon-
taire a la S. S. A. U. 1 depuis Janvier 1915: —

"A fait preuve en toutes circonstances d'un
calme imperturbable et d'un absolu devouement.
A assure le service des evacuations depuis le poste
de secours de l'Eclusier sous plusieurs bombarde-
ments dans des conditions de rapid ite parfaites et
avec un extreme souci du confort des blesses.

"MENTIONED1' IN THE SANITARY SERVICE,
FIRST COLONIAL ARMY CORPS

CAMPBELL, Joshua, Driver. Volunteer in the S. S. A. U. 1 since Jan-
uary, 1915: Has given proof, on all occasions, of imperturbable coolness
and undivided devotion to duty. Looked after the matter of removals
from the dressing-station at l'Eclusier, during several bombardments,
with the greatest possible speed, and with the utmost care for the
comfort of the wounded.

282

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

CAREY, Graham, sujet Americain, domicile a Cam-
bridge (Massachusetts) Etats-Unis, sous-chef de
la Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 3:
"A affirme son courage et son devouement en
allant spontanement recueillir, sous les obus, les
blesses d'un corps de troupe, voisin de son poste
d' attache, et en assurant leur evacuation immedi-
ate."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

CAREY, Graham, an American, living at Cambridge, Massachusetts,
second in command of the American Automobile Sanitary Section
No. 3: Manifested his courage and his devotion to duty by going
out spontaneously under a storm of shells, to collect the wounded of
a detachment stationed near the post to which he was attached, and
assuring their immediate removal to the rear.

CITATION A LA 129eme DIVISION

CLARK, John, volontaire Americain de la Section
Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

"A donne depuis huit mois l'exemple d'une fide-
lite entiere a son service. Pendant la periode du 22
Juin au 2 Juillet a montre une intrepidite parfaite
et a fait allegrement plus que son devoir dans des
circonstances dangereuses."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 129th DIVISION

CLARK, John, American Volunteer of American Sanitary Section No. 3:
In the past eight months has set an example of absolute fidelity to
duty. During the period from 22 June to 2 July, displayed perfect
intrepidity, and readily did more than his duty in circumstances of
great peril.

284

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

CURLEY, E. J., de la Section Sanitaire Automobile
Americaine N° 3, sujet Americain: —

"A de nouveau fait preuve d'un devourment
digne des plus grands eloges en assurant nuit et
jour, pendant quinze jours, avec un parfait mepris
du danger, l'evacuation de nombreux blesses sur
une route de montagne constamment battue par
les projectiles ennemis."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

CURLEY, E. J., of American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 3, an
American: Has again given proof of a devotion deserving of the high-
est praise, by safeguarding night and day, for a fortnight, with utter
contempt of danger, the removal of many wounded over a mountain
road constantly swept by the enemy's fire.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE

l£9eme DIVISION

Le Volontaire Americain DAWSON, Benjamin, de la
Section Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

"A fait preuve a la Section Sanitaire Americaine
N° 3 d'un entier devouement en particulier au
cours des mission dangereuses effectuees sous le feu
de l'ennemi en Decembre-Janvier 1916 et pendant
la periode du 22 Juin au 2 Juillet 1916."

"MENTIONED" IN THE SANITARY SERVICE,
129th DIVISION

The American Volunteer, Benjamin DAWSON, of American Sanitary
Section No. 3: Has displayed in the work of American Sanitary Section
No. 3 absolute devotion to duty, especially in the execution of certain
dangerous commissions under the enemy's fire in December, 1915-
January, 1916, and during the period from 22 June to 2 July, 1916.

286

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

DOUGLASS, David B., de la Section Sanitaire Au-
tomobile Americaine N° 3, sujet Americain: "A
de nouveau fait preuve d'un devouement digne des
plus grands eloges en assurant nuit et jour, pendant
quinze jours, avec un parfait mepris du danger,
l'evacuation de nombreux blesses sur une route de
montagne constamment battue par les projectiles

ennemis."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

DOUGLASS, David B., of American Automobile Sanitary Section No.
3, an American: Has again given proof of a devotion deserving of
the highest praise, by safeguarding night and day, for a fortnight,
with utter contempt of danger, the removal of many wounded over a
mountain road swept by the enemy's fire.

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

Le Conducteur DOYLE, Luke C, de la Section Sani-
taire Automobile Americaine N° 3, sujet Ameri-
cain: "A de nouveau fait preuve d'un devouement
digne des plus grands eloges en assurant nuit et
jour, pendant 15 jours, avec un parfait mepris du
danger, l'evacuation de nombreux blesses sur une
route de montagne constamment battue par les
projectiles ennemis."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

DOYLE, Luke C, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section
No. 3, an American: Has again given proof of a devotion deserving
of the highest praise, by safeguarding night and day, for a fortnight,
with utter contempt of danger, the removal of many wounded over a
mountain road swept by the enemy's fire.

288

CITATION A LA 127^ DIVISION

EDWARDS, Brooke Leonard, Conducteur a la
Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 1:
"A montre le plus grande courage et un sang-froid
remarquable en allant chercher des blesses dans un
poste avance. Sa voiture ayant ete atteinte par
plusieurs eclats d'obus en traversant une zone vio-
lemment bombardee, s'est arrete pour reparer et a
rempli sa mission jusqu'au bout en ramenant des
blesses hors de la zone dangereuse." *

"MENTIONED" IN THE 127th DIVISION

EDWARDS, Brooke Leonard, Driver, in American Automobile Sanitary
Section No. 1 : Displayed the greatest bravery and noteworthy coolness
in going to take up the wounded in an advanced position. His car hav-
ing been hit by several fragments of shell as he crossed a zone then
under a heavy bombardment, he stopped to repair it and performed
his mission to the end, bringing back a number of wounded men from
the dangerous zone.

CITATION A LA 66*™ DIVISION

Le Conducteur FENTON, Powel, de la Section Sani-
taire Automobile Americaine N° 3, sujet Ameri-
cain : —

"A de nouveau fait preuve d'un devouement
digne des plus grands eloges en assurant nuit et
jour, pendant quinze jours, avec un parfait mepris
du danger, l'evacuation de nombreux blesses sur
une route de montagne constamment battue par
les projectiles ennemis."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

FENTON, Powel, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section
No. 3, an American: Has again given proof of a devotion deserving
of the highest praise, by safeguarding night and day, for a fortnight,
with utter contempt of danger, the removal of many wounded over
a mountain road swept by the enemy's fire.

1 This citation was approved and signed by General Joffre, Gen-
eral Nivelle, commanding the 2d Army, the General commanding
" Groupement E," the General commanding the 127th Division, the
Medecin Divisionnaire of the 127th Division.

290

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE 66eme

DIVISION

GALATTI, Stephen, sujet Americain, Conducteur a
la Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 3:
"A pendant quinze jours assure nuit et jour, sur
une route de montagne difficile, et constamment
battue par les projectiles ennemis, l'evacuation de
nombreux blesses, avec un zele et un devouement
dignes de tous les eloges."

"MENTIONED," SANITARY SERVICE, 66th DIVISION

GALATTI, Stephen, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section
No. 3, an American subject: On a bad mountain road, constantly-
swept by the enemy's fire, safeguarded night and day, for a fortnight,
the removal of many wounded, with a zeal and devotion deserving
of the highest praise.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE 73eme

DIVISION

GLOVER, Halcott, sous-chef de Section a la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 2:

S'est toujours distingue par son esprit de
devoir, son devouement, son calme absolu dans
le danger et ses qualites d'organisateur, Conduite
remarquable lors du bombardement du 22 Juillet.
Toujours a son poste les jours d'attaque.

" MENTIONED " — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

GLOVER, Halcott, second in command of American Automobile Sani-
tary Section No. 2: Has constantly distinguished himself by his sense
of duty, his devotion, his perfect coolness in danger, and his talent as
an organizer. Noteworthy conduct at the time of the bombardment
of July 22. Always at his post on days of assault.

292

_. *" . .

LE mEdecin divisionnaire, docteur

GEORGES, DE LA 66eme DIVISION, CITE
A L'ORDRE DE LA DIVISION:

HALL, Richard, de la Section Sanitaire Americaine
No 3.

Le Bon Samaritain qu'etait Richard Hall avait
pris la decision de voyager beau coup de concert
avec nous, sur notre route, pour tendre une main
inlassablement secourable a ceux de nos compa-
triotes militaires que les hostilites actuelles au-
raient plonge dans le malheur. II l'a fait depuis de
longs mois avec la constante tenacite que vous
savez.

Sur cette route un projectile ennemi Pa tue. Je
salue bien bas sa depouille en lui disant, a lui et a
ses emules en devouement, les membres de la Sec-
tion Sanitaire Americaine N° 3, mon sentiment de
profonde et entiere admiration au nom du Service
de Sante de la 66^me Division.

Par ordre du General commandant la 66^me
Division, j'epingle a ce cercueil la Croix de Guerre
Frangaise avec citation a l'ordre de la Division.
26 Decembre 1915.

THE DIVISIONAL SURGEON-IN-CHIEF, OF THE 66th DIVI-
SION, DR. GEORGES, MENTIONS IN THE DIVISIONAL
ORDER OF THE DAY:

HALL, Richard, of the American Sanitary Section No. 3. The good
Samaritan, Richard Hall, had determined to travel often with us,
on our regular road, in order to extend an untiringly helping hand to
those of our military compatriots upon whom the present hostilities
had brought misfortune. He did this for many long months with the
tenacious persistence that you know of.

On that road a German shell killed him. Reverently I salute his
mortal remains, expressing to him and to his rivals in devotion to the
cause, the members of American Sanitary Section, No. 3, my senti-
ment of profound and unstinted admiration, in behalf of the Sani-
tary Service of the 66th Division.

By order of the General commanding the 66th Division, I pin to this
coffin the French Croix de Guerre, together with this mention in the
divisional order of the day.

December 26, 1915.

294

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

HALE, Dudley, sujet Americain, domicilii a New
York, fitats-Unis, Conducteur de la Section Sani-
taire Automobile Americaine N° 3 :

"A affirme son courage et son devouement en
allant spontanement recueillir, sous les obus, les
blesses d'un corps de troupe voisin de son poste
d'attache, et en assurant leur evacuation immedi-
ate."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

HALE, Dudley, an American, living at New York, United States,
Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 3: Demon-
strated his courage and his devotion to duty by going out, of his own
motion, under shell-fire, to pick up the wounded of a force near his
station, and ensuring their immediate removal.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE,

64eme DIVISION

HANSEN, Sigurd, Conducteur volontaire de la S. S.
Americaine N° 4 : —

"S'est particulierement distingue par son sang-
froid, son courage, et son devouement en concou-
rant, du 18 au 30 Juin 1916, aux evacuations des
blesses des postes de secours, dans un secteur battu
par l'artillerie ennemie."

"MENTIONED" IN ORDERS OF THE SANITARY SERVICE,

64th DIVISION

HANSEN, Sigurd, Volunteer Driver of American S. S. 4: Distinguished
himself particularly by his coolness, courage, and devotion, while
assisting, between the 18th and 30th of June, 1916, in the removal of
wounded from postes de secours, in a sector swept by the enemy artillery.

296

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

HILL, Lovering, Chef de la Section Sanitaire Ameri-
caine N° 3 :

"A de nouveau affirme son inlassable devoue-
ment en assurant avec une froide cranerie et dans
les conditions tres correctes pendant les journees
et les nuits des 15, 16 et 17 Octobre 1915, dans une
region difficilement practicable et en partie bat-
tue par le feu 1'ennemi, l'evacuation de nombreux
blesses."

" MENTIONED" ' IN THE 66th DIVISION

HILL, Lovering, in command of American Sanitary Section No. 3:
Has demonstrated anew his untiring devotion to duty by safeguard-
ing, with cool audacity and in .perfect order, during the days and
nights of October 15, 16, 17, 1915, in a district where such move-
ments were very difficult and which was partly within range of the
enemy's guns, the removal of numerous wounded.

CITATION A LA 66^ DIVISION

Le Lieutenant HILL, Lovering, Commandant la
Section Sanitaire America ine N° 3, sujet ameri-
cain:

"A de nouveau affirme son courage, son devour-
ment et son esprit d'organisation en faisant assurer
et assurant lui-meme, nuit et jour, pendant quinze
jours, avec un parfait mepris du danger, l'evacua-
tion de nombreux blesses sur une route de mon-
tagne constamment battue par les projectiles
ennemis."

"MENTIONED " IN THE 66th DIVISION

HILL, Lovering, Lieutenant Commanding American Sanitary Section
No. 3, an American subject: Has demonstrated anew his courage,
devotion to duty, and talent for organization by superintending and
taking an active part in safeguarding night and day, for a fortnight,
with utter contempt of danger, the removal of many wounded, over
a mountain road constantly swept by the enemy's guns.

298

CITATION A LA £eme ARMEE

HILL, Lovering, de la Section Sanitaire Americaine
No 3.

"Delegue de l'hopital Americain de Neuilly a la
Section Sanitaire Americaine N° 3, a montre une
fois de plus, au service de la 129e Division, pendant
les evacuations difficiles et dangereuses du 22 Juin
au 2 Juillet, les plus belles qualites d'un chef,
l'oubli de lui-meme, un entier devouement a son
service et a ses volontaires."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 2d ARMY

HILL, Lovering, of American Sanitary Section No. 3: Ordered from the
American hospital at Neuilly to American Sanitary Section No. 3,
has shown once more, in the service of the 129th Division, during the
dangerous and difficult "evacuations" of 22 June to 2 July, the finest
qualities of leadership — forgetf illness of self, and absolute devotion
to his duties and to his volunteers.

299

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi,

129eme DIVISION

Le Volontaire Americain HITT, Lawrence, de la
Section Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

" S'est tou jours distingue par son zele et son de-
vouement et particulierement du 22 Juin au 2 Juillet
1916 au cours de l'evacuation des blesses de la
Division effectuee on depit de bombardements con-
stants et violents de la route e.t des postes."

"MENTIONED" IN ORDERS OF THE SANITARY SERVICE,

129th DIVISION

The American Volunteer HITT, Lawrence, of American Sanitary Section
No. 3: Has constantly distinguished himself by his zeal and devotion,
and especially from 22 June to 2 July, 1916, during the removal of the
wounded of the Division, which was safely effected despite constant
and intense bombardments of the road and the stations.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi

l29eme DIVISION

HOLLISTER, George, Volontaire Americain de la
S. S. Americaine N° 3: —

"S'est toujours distingue par son devouement
et son entrain, particulierement au cours des
evacuations perilleuses du 22 Juin au 2 Juillet
1916 operees par une route continuellement bom-
bardee."

"MENTIONED" IN ORDERS OF THE SANITARY SERVICE,

129th DIVISION

HOLLISTER, George, American volunteer in the American Sanitary
Service No. 3: Has always distinguished himself by his devotion and
his spirit, particularly during the dangerous removal of the wounded
from June 22 to July 2, 1916, over a road under constant bombardment.

300

CITATION A LA 129^ DIVISION

JACKSON, Everett, Volontaire Americain de la Sec-
tion Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

"Volontaire Americain de la Section Sanitaire
Americaine N° 3, volontaire pour toutes les t aches
et en toutes circonstances ; a rendu par son devoue-
ment les plus grands services a ia section pendant
la periode d'activite intense et dangereuse du 22
Juin au 2 Juillet."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 129th DIVISION

JACKSON, Everett, American Volunteer of American Sanitary Section
No. 3: American Volunteer of American Sanitary Section No. 3,
volunteers for all tasks and under all circumstances; by his devotion
rendered the most valuable service to the Section during the period of
intense and dangerous activity, from 22 June to 2 July.

CITATION AU ler CORPS D'ARM£E, 3*™

DIVISION

LEWIS, Philip, Conducteur a la S. S. U, 1 : —

"Engage volontaire, conducteur a la S. S. U. 1
depuis Mars 1916 se trouvant dans une localite
soumise a un violent bombardement le 15 Juin
1916; a montre la plus grande bravoure et le plus
absolu mepris du danger; a aide a soigner les blesses
et n'a consenti a s'eloigner que sur l'ordre formel
des medecins apres avoir pris dans sa voiture tons
les blesses qu'elle pouviat contenir et qu'il a con-
duits dans les meilleures conditions a la formation
sanitaire qui lui etait indiquee.

"MENTIONED" IN THE 1st ARMY CORPS, 3d DIVISION

LEWIS, Philip, Driver in S. S. U. 1 : Volunteer, Driver in S. S. U. 1 since
March, 1916, being in a locality subjected to a violent bombardment,
on 15 June, 1916, displayed the greatest gallantry and utter contempt
of danger, assisted in caring for the wounded and refused to retire
except upon the formal order of the physicians, after he had taken in
his car all the wounded it would hold and driven them under the best
possible conditions to the Sanitary station to which he was directed.

302

HBMH

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73eme

DIVISION

LOVELL, Walter, sous-chef de Section a la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine No, % : —

"A toujours fait preuve d'un moral remarquable;
a toujours ete un example de courage pour les
autres conducteurs, et un precieux auxiliaire pour
le Chef de sa Section."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

LOVELL, Walter, second in command of the American Automobile
Sanitary Section No. 2: Has always given proof of a noteworthy spirit;
has constantly set the example of courage to the other drivers, and
has been an invaluable assistant to the commander of his Section.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73^

DIVISION

McCONNELL, James R., Conducteur a la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine No 2 : —

"Conducteur engage des la premiere heure;
anime d'un excellent esprit; a toujours fait preuve
d'un courage et d'une hardiesse dignes des plus
grands eloges."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

McCONNELL, James R., Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary
Section No. 2: Volunteered as a driver at the very beginning; in-
spired by praiseworthy zeal; has always given proof of a courage and
fearlessness worthy of the highest praise.

304

CITATION A LA 16eme DIVISION

L'automobiliste volontaire MacMONAGLE, Doug-
las, de la S. S. A. Americaine N° 8: —

'Un obus etant tombe en plein poste de secours
a conserve tout son calme et avec le plus grand
devouement a contribue sous un bombardement
au chargement de trois blesses dont Fevacuation
etait urgente."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 16th DIVISION

Volunteer automobilist Douglas MacMONAGLE of American A. S. S.
No. 8: A shell having fallen in the middle of a poste de secours, he
retained his self-possession, and with the utmost devotion, under
bombardment, assisted in loading three wounded men whose removal
was imperative.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73eme

DIVISION

MARTIN, William T., Conducteur a la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine 2 depuis le mois
de Decembre : —

:'S'est toujours distingue par son devouement
extreme et par son esprit de devoir. S'est avance
avec sa voiture sous un violent bombardement pour
ramener vers l'arriere plusieurs blesses. L'auto fut
tres endommage par des eclats de shrapnell."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

MARTIN, William T., Driver of the American Automobile Sanitary
Section No. % since December: Has constantly distinguished himself
by his extreme devotion and his sense of duty. Drove forward in his
car under a fierce bombardment, to pick up several wounded men
and take them to the rear. The car was badly damaged by pieces
of shrapnel.

306

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE 66eme

DIVISION

MELLEN, Joseph, sujet Americain, conducteur a la
Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 3:

"A pendant quinze jours assure nuit et jour, sur
une route de montagne difficile et constamment
battue par les projectiles ennemis, l'evacuation de
nombreux blesses, avec un zele et un devouement
dignes de tous les eloges."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 66th

DIVISION

MELLEN, Joseph, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section
No. 3, an American subject: Safeguarded night and day, for a fort-
night, on a difficult mountain road, constantly swept by the enemy's
guns, the removal of many wounded, with a zeal and devotion worthy
of the highest praise.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73eme

DIVISION

OGILVIE, Francis Dashwood, de la Section Sani-
taire Americaine N° 2, conducteur depuis le debut
de la campagne:

"S'est toujours distingue par son esprit de de-
voir, son devouement et son calme absolu dans le
danger."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

OGILVIE, Francis Dashwood, of American Sanitary Section No. 2,
Driver since the beginning of the campaign: Has constantly distin-
guished himself by his sense of duty, his devotion, and his perfect
coolness in danger.

308

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE

129eme DIVISION

Le volontaire Americain PEIRCE, Waldo, de la Sec-
tion Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

'Volontaire depuis Novenibre 1915 a la Section
Sanitaire Americaine; a pris part aux evacuations
d'une Division en Decembre et Janvier 1915 et aux
missions perilleuses du 22 Juin au % Juillet 1916.
Maintes fois expose a des bombardements violents,
a ete a deux reprises atteint au visage et au corps
par des eclats d'obus pendant cette derniere
periode."

"MENTIONED" IN ORDERS OF THE SANITARY SERVICE,

129th DIVISION

The American Volunteer Waldo PEIRCE, of American Sanitary Section
No. 3: Volunteer since November, 1915, in the American Sanitary
Section; took part in the removal of the wounded of a division in De-
cember and January, 1915, and in carrying out dangerous missions
from 22 June to 2 July, 1916. Constantly exposed to intense bombard-
ment, has been wounded twice, in the face and body, by fragments of
shell, during the latter period.

CITATION A LA 129eme DIVISION

POTTER, Thomas, volontaire Americain a la Sec-
tion Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

"Volontaire infatigable, d'une energie et d'un
sang-froid exemplaires dans le danger."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 129th DIVISION

POTTER, Thomas, American volunteer of American Sanitary Section
No. 3: An indefatigable volunteer, of exemplary energy and composure
in danger.

310

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE 73eme

DIVISION

PUTNAM, Tracy J., sujet Americain, conducteur a la
Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 3 : —
"A pendant quinze jours assure nuit et jour, sur
une route de montagne difficile et constamment
battue par les projectiles ennemis, l'evacuation de
nombreux blesses, avec un zele et un devouement
dignes de tous les eloges."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

PUTNAM, Tracy J., Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section
No. 3, an American: Safeguarded for a fortnight, night and day, on
a difficult mountain road constantly swept by the enemy's guns, the
removal of many wounded, with a zeal and devotion worthy of the
highest praise.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE 31eme
CORPS D'ARMEE

RANTOUL, Beverley, conducteur volontaire Ameri-
cain de la Section Sanitaire Automobile N° 4 : —

"A toujours fait preuve du plus grand sang-
froid et d'un devouement absolu aux blesses, en
procedant a leur evacuation sur des routes fre-
quemment bombardees. S'est acquitte de certaines
missions perilleuses avec beaucoup de calme et de
courage, notamment le 30 Mars 1916 aGrosrouvres,
au coursd'un bombardement, et le 10 Avril, a Xiv-
ray , ou, allant chercher un blesse au poste de secours,
sa voiture fut atteinte par des eclats d'obus.

"MENTIONED" IN THE SANITARY SERVICE,
31st ARMY CORPS

RANTOUL, Beverley, American volunteer, Driver in Automobile Sani-
tary Section No. 4: Has always displayed the greatest coolness and
entire devotion to the wounded, while assisting in their removal on
roads frequently under bombardment. Acquitted himself of certain
perilous commissions with great composure and courage, notably on
30 March, 1916, at Grosrouvres, during a bombardment, and on 10
April, at Xivray, where, as he was on his way to bring in a wounded
soldier to the poste de secours, his car was struck by fragments of shell.

312

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

Le Conducteur RICE, Durant, de la Section Sanitaire
Automobile Americaine N° 3, sujet Americain: —
"A de nouveau fait preuve d'un devourment
digne des plus grands eloges en assurant nuit et
jour, pendant quinze jours, avec un parfait mepris
du danger, l'evacuation de nombreux blesses sur
une route de montagne constamment battue par
les projectiles ennemis."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 66th DIVISION

RICE, Durant, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section No. 3,
an American : Has demonstrated anew a devotion worthy of the high-
est praise by safeguarding night and day, for a fortnight, with utter
contempt of danger, the removal of many wounded over a mountain
road constantly swept by the enemy's guns.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73eme

DIVISION

ROEDER, George, Conducteur a la Section Sani-
taire Americaine N° 2 : —

"Depuis les premiers jours de la mobilisation a
montre au service de la Croix Rouge une ardeur et
un entrain qui ne se sont jamais ralentis."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

ROEDER, George, Driver, of American Sanitary Section No. 2: Since
the first days of mobilization has displayed in the service of the Red
Cross a zeal and energy which have never slackened.

314

CITATION A LA 73eme DIVISION

SALISBURY, Edward, Chef de la Section Sanitaire
Automobile Americaine N° 2 : —

"A fait preuve des meilleures qualites dans la
conduite de sa section: infatigable, d'une volonte
ferine et resolue, il a donne 1'exemple du devoue-
ment, de la bonte et du courage."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 73rd DIVISION

SALISBURY, Edward, Commander of American Automobile Sanitary
Section No. 2: Has given proof of most excellent qualities in the man-
agement of his Section; indefatigable, with a firm and determined will,
he has set a fine example of devotion, kindliness, and courage.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE 73eme

DIVISION

SCHRODER, Bernard, de la Section Sanitaire
Automobile Americaine N° 2 : —
"Conducteur engage depuis le debut de la cam-
pagne, n'a cesse de faire preuve de courage et de
sang-froid. Toujours aux postes les plus dangereux,
a fait admiration de tous le 22 Juillet a Pont-a-
Mousson, ou il a porte les premiers secours aux
victimes du bombardement."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

SCHRODER, Bernard, of American Automobile Sanitary Section No.
2: Volunteered as Driver at the beginning of the campaign, and has
constantly given proof of great courage and self-possession. Always
to be found at the most dangerous posts, he aroused universal admir-
ation on July 22, at Pont-a-Mousson, where he administered first aid
to the victims of the bombardment.

316

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTE

geme ARMEE

SPONAGLE, James Milton, Mecanicien a la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 1 : —

"Le 11 Juillet 1916 est alle reparer une voiture
restee en panne sur une route violemment bom-
bardee; a accompli la reparation sous le feu de
l'ennemi avec un sang-froid remarquable, s'est en-
suite propose pour conduire une voiture d 'Ambu-
lance et a aide a l'evacuation des blesses pendant
une period e de bombard ement intense."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 2d ARMY, SANITARY SERVICE

SPONAGLE, James Milton, mechanic in American Automobile Sanitary-
Section No. 1: On 11 July, 1916, went out to repair a car left stranded
on a road that was being violently bombarded; made the necessary
repairs under the enemy's fire with notable composure; then volun-
teered to drive an Ambulance car and assisted in removing wounded
throughout a period of intense bombardment.

CITATION A LA 66eme DIVISION

Le Conducteur SUCKLEY, H., de la Section Sani-
taire Americaine N° 3, sujet Americain: —

"MENTIONED'' IN THE 66th DIVISION

SUCKLEY, H., Driver, of American Sanitary Section No. 3: Has again
given proof of a devotion deserving of the highest praise by safeguard-
ing night and day, for a fortnight, with utter contempt of danger, the
removal of many wounded over a mountain road constantly swept
by the enemy's fire.

318

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73^

DIVISION

TAYLOR, John, Conducteur Americain de la Section
Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 2 : —

"Animedu meilleur esprit, plein d'entrain et de
courage. Le 19 Decembre, etant de service a Mont-
auville, un obus ayant explose pres du poste tele-
phonique, s'est porte au secours des blesses qu'il a
aides a relever, bien qu'il ait ete lui-meme legere-
ment contusionne. Le 20 Decembre, 1915, lors
d'un bombardement violent de Pont-a-Mousson,
s'est porte le premier au secours des blesses avec
un reel mepris du danger."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

TAYLOR, John, American, Driver in the American Automobile Sani-
tary Section No. 2: Inspired by the most exemplary sentiments, full
of " go," and courage. On December 19, being on duty at Montau-
ville, and a shell having exploded near the telephone station, he went
to the assistance of the wounded, whom he helped to remove, although
himself slightly wounded. On December 20, 1915, during a violent
bombardment of Pont-a-Mousson, was the first to go to the assistance
of the wounded, with a genuine disregard of danger.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi

129eme DIVISION

TINKHAM, Edward, Volontaire Americain de la
S. S. Americaine N° 3 : —

"A constamment rendu par son inlassable de-
vouement les plus appreciables services; a pris
part aux evacuations difficiles et dangereuses du
22 Juin au 2 Juillet 1916 operees sous le feu violent
de l'ennemi."

"MENTIONED" IN THE SANITARY SERVICE,
129th DIVISION

TINKHAM, Edward, American volunteer in the American Sanitary
Service No. 3: Has constantly rendered by his untiring devotion
most valuable services; took part in the difficult and dangerous re-
moval of wounded from June 22 to July 2, 1916, under the violent
fire of the enemy.

320

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73eme

DIVISION

WALDEN, Donald M., de la Section Sanitaire
Automobile Americaine.

"A tou jours fait preuve de la meilleure volonte
et s'est fait remarquer par son audace lors de
l'attaque du 4 Juillet."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

WALDEN, Donald M., of American Automobile Sanitary Section:
Has constantly given proof of the greatest zeal, and drew attention
to himself by his fearlessness during the assault of July 4.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 66^e

DIVISION

WALKER, J. Marquand, sujet Americain, conduc-
teur a la Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine
N°3: —

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 66th

DIVISION

WALKER, J. Marquand, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary
Section No. 3: Safeguarded for a fortnight, night and day, on a difficult
mountain road constantly swept by the enemy's guns, the removal of
many wounded, with a zeal and devotion worthy of the highest praise.

322

CITATION A LA &™ DIVISION
COLONIALE ETAT-MAJOR

WHITE, Victor, S/Chef de la Section Sanitaire
Americaine N° 1, le 3 Mai 1916, charge d'evacuer
les blesses d'un village violemment bombarde, a
fait preuve de sang froid, de courage et du plus
beau devouement en chargeant rapidement sa
voiture, et en la mettant aussitot en marche, ne se
souciant que de soustraire ses blesses a de nouveaux
coups de l'ennemi.

Le General MAZILLIER, Cdt. la &™ Div.
Signe : MAZILLIER

"MENTIONED" IN THE 2d DIVISION, COLONIAL STAFF

WHITE, Victor, Second in Command of American Sanitary Section
No. 1, on May 3, 1916, being ordered to remove the wounded from a
village that was being heavily shelled, gave proof of coolness, cour-
age, and the noblest devotion, by loading his car rapidly, and in-
stantly driving away, thinking of nothing except to save his wounded
from being hit again. (Signed) General Mazillier

Commanding the 2d Division.

CITATION AU 1<* CORPS D'ARMEE COLO-
NIALE DIRECTION DU SERVICE DE
SANTE

WHITE, Victor, Conducteur.

Engage volontaire a la S. S. A. U-l depuis Avril
1915; a montre en toutes circonstances beaucoup
d'entrain, de courage et de sang froid. S'est par-
ticulierement distingue lors de Pattaque allemande
par les gaz le 22 Avril, des bombardements de
Dunkerque et pendant les evacuations des postes
de 1'Eclusier et de Cappy (Fevrier-Mai 1916).

"MENTIONED" IN THE 1st COLONIAL ARMY CORPS,
SANITARY DIVISION

WHITE, Victor, Driver. Served as volunteer in the S. S. A. U-l since
April, 1915; has displayed on all occasions much energy, courage, and
self-possession. Distinguished himself particularly at the time of the
German gas attack on April 22, during the bombardments of Dun-
kirk, and during the removal of the wounded from the stations of
Eclusier and Cappy (February-May, 1916).

324

CITATION A LA 129eme DIVISION

WHEELER, Walter, volontaire Americain de la Sec-
tion Sanitaire Americaine N° 3 : —

'S'est toujours propose comme volontaire pour
les missions les plus perilleuses et a particuliere-
ment fait preuve, pour secourir les blesses d'un
poste de recueil sous un violent bombardement,
d'un elan spontane digne de tout eloge."

"MENTIONED" IN THE 129th DIVISION

WHEELER, Walter, American volunteer, of American Sanitary Section
No. 3: Has invariably offered himself as a volunteer for the most haz-
ardous undertakings, and on one occasion especially gave proof of a
spontaneous energy deserving of the highest praise, in assisting the
wounded of a receiving post under a violent bombardment.

CITATION SERVICE DE SANTfi 73*"*

DIVISION

WILLIS, Harold, Conducteur a la Section Sanitaire
Automobile Americaine N° 2 : —

"A toujours fait preuve d'un courage et d'une
hardiesse dignes des plus grands eloges, notam-
ment pendant Pattaque du 4 Juillet, s'offrant pour
aller chercher des blesses dans un endroit tres
perilleux, et eut sa voiture criblee d'eclats d'obus."

"MENTIONED" — SANITARY SERVICE OF THE 73rd

DIVISION

WILLIS, Harold, Driver, of American Automobile Sanitary Section No.
2: Has always given proof of a courage and fearlessness worthy of the
highest praise, notably during the assault of July 4, in volunteering to
go after the wounded in a very dangerous spot; his car was riddled
with fragments of shell.

326

•3% «w

WOOLVERTON, William H., Conducteur a la Sec-
tion Sanitaire Automobile Americaine N° 1 :

:'Sous un bombardement incessant a continue a
assurer le service des evacuations sans la moindre
hesitation. A un endroit particulierement expose,
au moment ou les obus tombaient avec violence, a
arrete sa voiture pour prendre des blesses qu'il a
aide a charger avec le plus grand calme, donnant
ainsi preuve de courage et de sang-froid."

WOOLVERTON, William H., Driver, of American Automobile Sani-
tary Section No. 1 : Under an incessant bombardment continued to
superintend the removals without the slightest hesitation. At one
specially exposed spot, where shells were falling in swift succession, he
stopped his car to pick up some wounded men whom he helped to
put aboard, with the utmost coolness, thus demonstrating his courage
and self-possession.

328

WILLIAM M. BARBER

ROSWELL S. SANDERS

THE "MEDAILLE MILITAIRE

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Grand Quartier General

des Armces

Au G. Q. G., le 27 juin 1916

Etat Major

Bureau du Personnel

ORDRE N° 3234-D
(Extrait)

La Medaille Militaire a ete confere au militaire dont
le nom suit : —

Barber, William, Conducteur au Service de Sante
d'une Division d'Infanterie: —

"Au cours des recentes operations, s'est dis-
tingue par son courage et son sang-froid en assurant
toutes les nuits l'evacuation des blesses sur une route
continuellement bombardee par l'artillerie ennemie.
A ete grievement blesse dans raccomplissement de
ses devoirs."

(La presente nomination comporte l'attribution de
la Croix de Guerre avec Palme.)

(Signe) J. Joffre

Pour extrait conforme

Le Lt. Colonel

Chef du Bureau du Personnel

Sanders, Roswell S., has been awarded the
Medaille Militaire, but his citation was received too
late to be included in this volume.

{November, 1916.)

331

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

[TRANSLATION]

General Headquarters

of the Armies General Headquarters, 27 June, 1916

Bureau du Personnel

Order No. 3234-D

(Extract)

The Medaille Militaire has been conferred upon the soldier whose name
follows : —

Barber, William, Driver in the Sanitary Service of an Infantry
Division: —

" In the course of recent operations has distinguished himself by his
courage and coolness in safeguarding night after night the removal of the
wounded over a road constantly bombarded by enemy artillery. Was
severely wounded in the performance of his duties."

(The present decoration carries with it the conferring of the Croix de
Guerre avec Palme.)

(Signed) J. Joffre
A true copy:
The Lieutenant-Colonel
Chief of the Bureau du Personnel

332

The text of the citations of the following men was
received too late to be included in the foregoing list.

Robert Bowman
Stanley Dell
Giles B. Francklyn
Edward J. Kelley
Owen Kenan
Carroll Riggs
Roswell Sanders
Herbert P. Townsend

In the presence of mortal conflict, where the fulfil-
ment of their labor of friendship lies, the men whose
names here follow have seen fortitude greater even
than the courage of the wounded. They have beheld
the strength of a people unified by sacrifice so com-
plete that its individuals are unconscious of personal
heroism. They have worked side by side with hun-
dreds of thousands of men and women who in con-
summating this sacrifice have yielded, without meas-
ure of cost, their ambition and love, and challenged
death — with dauntless resolution to save not only
their country, but the principles of democracy for the
whole world. France, invincible in her resistance, has
issued no acclamation of glory, has sought no sym-
pathy for the costliness of the onslaught, nor pub-
lished denunciation of the enemy, but by intrepid
manhood has won the honor of all nations.

These Americans, in their service of conservation,
have gained immutable evidence of that spirit upon
which the highest citizenship and patriotism depend.
Whatever bitterness chance may bring into their
futures, they at least can never lose faith in human
nature — remembering the standard under which these
days of their youth have been consecrated.

H. D. S.

ABBREVIATIONS

(The abbreviations of names of colleges and universities represented in this list are

as follows.)

= Ames

= Princeton

Am.

= Amherst

P.S.

= Pennsylvania State

= Brown

Pa.

= Paris

B.C.

= Beloit Coll.

Pitts.

= Univ. of Pittsburg

Bow.

= Bowdoin

St.P.S.

= St. Paul's School

C.C.

= Cooper Coll.

Sew.

= Sewanee

C.G.S.

= Cornell Graduate School

Sw.

= Swarthmore

Cam.

= Cambridge

T.C.

= Trinity Coll.

Co.

= Columbia

U.A.

= Univ. of Arizona

Col.C.

= Colorado Coll.

U.C.

= Univ. of California

Cor.

= Cornell

U.M.

= Univ. of Michigan

= Dartmouth

U.Mo.

= Univ. of Missouri

= Fordham

U.N.

= Univ. of Nevada

= Groton School

U.N.C.

= Univ. of North Carolina

= Harvard

U.N.D.

= Univ. of North Dakota

H.-S.

= Hampton-Sidney

U.P.

= Univ. of Pennsylvania

Ham.

= Hamilton

u.s.c.

= Univ. of South Carolina

= Iowa

u.u.

= Univ. of Utah

J.H.

= Johns Hopkins

u.v.

= Univ. of Virginia

L.C.

= Lehigh Coll.

= Vanderbilt

M.A.

= Mass. Agricultural

W.R.

= Western Reserve

M.I.T.

= Mass. Inst. Technology

w.u.

= Washington Univ.

N.U.

= Northwestern Univ.

Wab.

= Wabash

New.C.

= Newberry Coll.

Wms.

= Williams

= Oberlin

= Yale

MEMBERS OF THE FIELD SERVICE
AMERICAN AMBULANCE
OCTOBER, 1916

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

John R. Abbott July'16 Andover, Mass 2

Eustace L. Adams Feb. '15. .. June'15. . . Newtonville, Mass. .T.C 3

Harry Adamson Jan'16. . .June' 16. . .Pittsfield, Mass. . . .T.C 4

Fred Hunter All April'15. .Aug.'15... .Allendale, S.C H %

Julian B. L.Allen Aug.'15 New York City St.P.S 4

Charles Burton Ames Sept. '16 W. Newton, Mass. . .Am 8

John Worthington Ames, Jr. Oct.'16 Cambridge, Mass. . .H 2

A. Piatt Andrew

Inspector General Dec. '14 Gloucester, Mass P.-H 1

Donald C. Armour April'16 Evanston, 111 Y 8,3

Kenneth L. Austin Mar.'15 Lausanne 4

Percy L. Avard July' 15. . . June'16 . . . New York 1

Charles Baird, Jr July'16 New York H

Roger M. L. Balbiani

Section Director Oct. '14 . . . Dec. '15 .

.2,3

. Paris 1

. New York 1

.Toledo, Ohio 0 3

.New York Y 2

.Oct.'15 Florence, Italy

.B.

Alwyn Ball. Nov.'14. .Feb.'15. .

William M. Barber May*16 . . Aug.'16. .

Norman L. Barclay ( Nov.'14. . July'15. . ,

(Nov.' 15.. June' 16

Edward O. Bartlett

Chief of Construction . ,

Frederick B. Bate

Mechanical Officer Aug. '14 . . April'16. . .Chicago *

Frank L. Baylies Feb.'16 New Bedford, Mass 1,3

James D. Beane July'16 Concord, Mass 9

Wm. De Ford Bigelow July'16 Cohasset, Mass H 4

Malbone H. Birckhead. . . . . .April'16 New York H 8

Percy A. Blair Jan.'16. . .Mar.'16 . . .Kent, England H 4

Arthur Bluethenthal May'16 Wilmington, N.C. ..P 3

% Tent Hospital t Park * Base

337

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Name . Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

John E. Boit May'16 Brookline, Mass H 2

Douglas T. Boiling Aug.'16 University, Va U.V 4

Robert Bowman 1 Sept.'15. .Nov.'15. . .Lake Forest, 111. . . .Y.. 1

I Feb.'16

Jackson H. Boyd April'16 Harrisburg, Pa P 8

Alfred M. Brace July'16 Green Bay, Wis B.C 9

Amos F. Breed Sept.' 16 Brookline, Mass. . . . H

Michael Brenner Nov.'14 . . Sept.'15. . . New York 1

Leighton Brewer July'15.. .Sept.'15. . .New York 1

Charles H. Brown Oct.'15. . .Mar.'16 . . .New York U.V 4

JohnF. Brown, Jr Nov.'15. .Feb.'16.. ..ReadviUe, Mass H 1

J. Paulding Brown Sept.'14. .May'15. ..Montclair, N.J H 1

Otto W. Budd Nov.'14 . . Oct.'lS .... San Antonio, Texas 1

Thomas B. Buffum Mar.'16 New York H 8,3

Lyman T. Burgess May'16 Sioux City, la D 2

Robert G. Burleigh Feb.'15 . . Aug.'15 . . . Hudson, Mass U.N J

Cakleton Burr

Section Commander Feb.' 16 Boston H 2,9

Leslie Buswell June' 15. .Oct.' 15 ... .Gloucester, Mass... .Cam 2

Victor B. Caldwell, Jr June' 15. . Sept.' 15. . .Omaha, Nebr Y 3

Joshua O. B. Campbell

Section Sous-chef Dec. '14 New York 1

David Carb Feb.'15. .July'15 Boston H 1

A. Graham Carey

Section Sous-chef. ....... .Dec' 14 Cambridge, Mass . ..H 3

James L. Carson Jan. '16. . .April'16. . .Chicago 1

Philip T. Cate Oct.' 15. ..Mar.' 16. . .Boston H 3

Walter Chrystie, Jr June'16 Bryn Mawr, Pa P.S 9

Coleman T. Clark April'16 Westfield, N.J Y 3

John W. Clark Nov.'15 Flushing, L.I Y 3

Philip R. Clark Feb.'16. . . Mar.'16 . . . Shelter Island, N.Y 3

Charles R. Codman, Jr. ... f Mar. '15. . July'15 ...Boston H 3

lFeb.'16...Aug.'16

Charles H. Cogswell Mar.'16. . Sept.'16. . .Cedar Rapids, la.. . .1 4

George R. Cogswell June'16 Cambridge, Mass.. .H 9

Samuel H. Colton, Jr April'15 . . July'15. . . . Worcester, Mass. . . .Bow 1

R. Folger W. Conquest June'16 Philadelphia U.P 9

Sidney A. Cook Sept.' 16 New Haven, Conn. .Y.-C.G.S. 2

William D. Crane ,. . .Mar.'16. .Sept.'16. ..New York H 4

Charles T. Crocker April'16. . June'16. . .Fitchburg, Mass 8

Charles R. Cross, Jr Feb.' 15. . .Mar. '15. . .Brookline, Mass H 1

Tingle W. Culbertson. . Mar.'16 Sewickley, Pa P 1

Lawrence B. Cummings . . . .Aug.' 16 Indianapolis, Ind. . .H 3,4

John E. Cunningham April'15. .Aug.' 16. . .Boston M.I.T 1

Richard J. Cunninghame

Section Sous-chef April'15. .Nov. '15. . .Edinburgh J

Edmund J. Curley l Mar.'15. .Aug.'15. . .New York H 3

(Oct.'15...Jan.'16

EnosCurtin Feb.' 15.. .June' 15. . .New York M.I.T... .

Brian C. Curtis June'16 New York H 9

t Tent

338

AMERICAN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

Nicholson F. Curtisa Dec.' 15.. .Aug.' 16. . .Cleveland W.R 4

Edwin G. Cushing Mar.'15. .Feb.'16.. . .New York 4J

William B. Dana June'16. .Aug.'16. . .New Haven, Conn..Y t

Colgate W. Darden, Jr Aug.'16 Franklin, Va U.V 1

Wm. S. Davenport, Jr July'16. Paris 9

Charles C. Davis Feb.'16 Boston H 4

Mahlon W. Davis Jan.'15. . .Aug.'15. . .Brookline, Mass 2

Alden Davison Feb.'16.. .Sept.'16. . .New York Y 8

Henry P. Davison, Jr June'16. .Aug.'16... .New York G t

Benjamin F. Dawson June' 15 . .July'16.. . .Philadelphia U.P 3

Harwood B. Day Sept. '15. .Dec. '15. . .Providence, R.I 1

Samuel G. Dayton Feb. 16. . .Aug.' 16. . .Philadelphia P.-U.P. . .4

William S. Dell July'16 Princeton, N.J P 4

Harry De Maine

Assistant to Inspector Sept. '14 Roby, England *

Edward H. De Neveu July'16 Asnidres, France. . . .Pa 3

Clifford A. De Roode July'15. . . April'16. . . New York It

Edward J. M. Diemer Mar.'16 New York 2

George Dock, Jr May'16 St. Louis D 2

Arthur G. Dodge April'16 Weatogue, Conn.. . .Y 8

David B. Douglass Jan.'15.. .April'16.. .West Newton, Mass 3

Jerome I. H. Downes Sept. '15. .Feb. '16. . . .Brookline, Mass. . . . H 1

Luke C. Doyle Sept.'15. .Feb.'16.. . .Worcester, Mass... .Y 3

Vivian Du Bouchet Sept.'14. .Feb.'16.. . .Paris 2

Rex W. Dunlap Nov.'15. .Feb.'16.. . .Kansas City, Mo.. .Y 4

Brooke Leonard Edwards. . .Feb. '16 Philadelphia 1

Wm. K. B.Emerson July'15. . .Nov.'16. ..New York H 3

George K. End Dec'15.. .July'16 New York Sw.-Co. . .1

Edwin H. English June'16 New Haven, Conn..Y 9

Josiah W. Eno July'15. .Mar.'16. ..New York 1

John N. d'Este Sept.'16 Boston H

John E. Ewell Feb.'16 Washington, D.C. . . J.H .f

Charles S. Faulkner April'16. .Oct.'16 Keene, N.H 8

Samuel P. Fay May'15. .Sept.'IS. ..Boston H 1

William P. Fay Sept.'15. .Mar.'16. . .New York .H 2

Powel Fenton ( Feb.'15. . . May'16 . . . Philadelphia U.P 3

i Aug.*16

Danforth B. Ferguson Sept.'14. . Aug.'15. . . .Brooklyn, N.Y 2

Fearchear Ferguson Dec'14 . . Aug.'15. . . . New York 1

Pierre Fischoff April'15..Mar.'16 . . .Paris 2%

John R. Fisher May'16 Arlington, Vt Co 2

Charles H. Fiske, 3rd Aug.'16 Boston H 3

C. Stewart Forbes Feb.'16.. .Sept.'16. . .Boston H 4

Frederick M. Forbush April'16 Detroit 8

Eric A. Fowler Aug.'16 New York P 4

Giles B. Francklyn June'15 Lausanne 1,3

V. Frank April'15 Paris t

% Tent t Park * Base

339

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

Section Commander Mar.'15 San Francisco Y *

San Francisco *

Name
Chas. J. Freeborn

George F. Freeborn

Equipment Officer July' 15. . .May' 16

Frank H. Gailor Dec.'15...April'16. . .Memphis, Tenn Sew.-Co. .2

Stephen Galatti

Assistant General Inspector Sept.'15 New York H 3

Rufus W. Gaynor Sept.' 16 St. James, L.I Am 1

. Colorado Springs . . . P 1

.Chester, S.C U.S.C. . . .*

.London 2

Harold H. Giles July' 15.. .Sept.'15.

John L. Glenn Dec'15.. . Jan.'16. .

J. Halcott Glover

Section Sous-chef Nov.'14 . . Dec'15. .

Robert R. Gooch Aug.'16 Charlottesville, Va..U.V 4

John R. Graham Nov.'15. .May*16. . .Philadelphia U.P 2

John McC. Granger July'15.. .Nov.'15. . .New York F 1

Roger Griswold Jan.' 16. ..Sept.' 16. . .Cambridge, Mass.. .H 2

Edmund L. Gros

Chief physician Aug.'14 Paris C.C *

.Dec'15.
.July'15.

.Sept.' 15.
.Oct.'15.

H. Dudley Hale Mar.'15. .April'16

Louis P. Hall, Jr.

Supply Officer ( Sept.'15. .Dec'15.

I April'16

Richard N. Hall June'15

(Killed in service)

Paul S. Haney Jan.'15.

Sigurd Hansen Nov. '14

Henry K. Hardon June'15

James W. Harle Feb.'15.

Raymond Harper June'16

William C. Harrington Oct.'16

H. Sydnor Harrison Mar.'15. .July'15.

J. Letcher Harrison June'16

Willis B. Haviland Sept,' 15. .Jan.' 16.

Bartlett E. Hayden Feb.'15. ..Oct.'15.

John R. Heilbuth May'16

Walter H. Hellier June'15. .Oct.' 15.

Alex. R. Henderson June'15. .Sept. '15

Lovering Hill

Section Commander ....... Nov.'14

Laurence W. Hitt Jan.'15. . . Aug.'16

William A. Hoeveler Feb.' 16.. .Sept.' 16

George M. Hollister Feb.'16

Carlyle H. Holt Feb.' 15.. .Aug.' 15.

Thomas G. Holt Feb.'16.

Sidney Howard June'16

John F. W. Huffer Dec' 14.

J. Cowan Hulbert

Section Director Feb.'15. . . Mar.'16

* Base t Park

Sept.' 16.
Sept.' 15.

.New York H 3

. Ann Arbor, Mich. . . D 3

.Ann Arbor, Mich.. .D 3

. Quakertown, Pa .... P 1

.Paris 1,4

.New York H 3

.New York 2,1

.New York P 2

. Worcester, Mass. . . . H 4

. Charleston, W.Va. . .Co 1

.Charlottesville, Va. .U.V 9

.Indianapolis A 2

. Watertown, Mass 1

.Paris 2

.Boston Y 2

.New York H 3

.New York Cor 3

.Pittsburgh Pitts 2

. Grand Rapids, Mich. H 3

. Hingham, Mass . . . . H 2

. Grand Rapids, Mich. Y 2

.Oakland, Cal U.C 9

.Paris 2

. St. Louis

t Tent

.W.U....4J

340

AMERICAN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

Oscar A. Iasigi

Section Sous-chef ( Jan.'15. . . July'15 Boston M.I.T...1.8

1 April' 16

Jerry T. Illich Dec'15.. .May'16. . . San Diego, Cai U.C 3

Robert W. Imbrie Dec. '15 Washington 1,3

Henry G. Iselin Feb.'16 Genets (Manche)

France 2

John P. Iselin Sept.'16 Genets (Manche)

France 2

Everett Jackson Dec. '15 Colorado Springs. . .Col.C. . .3,8

Leslie P. Jacobs Mar.'16. .Sept.' 16. . .Laramie, Wyo H 8

Allan R. Jennings July'15. . . Jan.'16 .... Philadelphia H 3

Walter Jepson July'16 Sparks, Nevada. . . .U.N 9

Henry D. Jewett Aug.'16 West Newton, Mass. M.A 4

Archibald B. Johnston April' 16. .July'16 Pittsburg Cor 3

Terence R. Johnston Feb.'16.. Chicago M.I.T.,.2,9

Henry S. Jones May'16 Brooklyn, N.Y L.C 1

Frederick S. Judson June'15 . . Nov.'15 . . . New York 3

Edward J. Kelley Aug.'16. .Sept.' 16. . .Philadelphia, Pa 4

(Killed in service)

Dr. Owen Kenan May,'16 Kenansville, N.C. . . U.N.C. ... 2

Peter L. Kent Dec'14 New York ..Co t*

Hugo A. Kenyon .Sept.' 15. .Dec' 15. . . .Peacedale, R.I B 1

Grenville T. Keogh April'16. .Oct.' 16. .. .New Rochelle, N.Y 8

James M. Killeen Oct.'16 Concord, N.H D 8

Arthur Kingsland June'15. .Oct.'15.. . .New York 3

Harold L. Kingsland

Section Sous-chef Dec'14. . .Oct.'15 .... New York Cam 1

Paul B. Kurtz (Aug.' 15. .Nov.'15. . .Germantown, Pa H 1

( July'16

Julian L. Lathrop Feb.'16.. .Aug.'16. . .New Hope, Pa H 1

Empie Latimer Nov.' 15. .July'16.. . .Wilmington, N.C. .P 1

Richard Lawrence

Section Commander Nov.'14. .July'15. . . .Groton, Mass H 3

George Lebon Oct.'16 Great Neck, L.I

Robert R. Lester June'16 Kansas City, Mo . . . P 9

David W. Lewis June'15 . .Nov.' 15. . .Brooklyn, N.Y H 3

Philip C. Lewis Feb.'16. . .Aug.'16. . .Indianapolis, Ind. . .H 1

Clark E. Lindsay Aug.'16 Charlottesville, Va..H.-S 1

Howard B. Lines ( Sept.'15. .Dec'15 Cambridge, Mass. . .D 1,8

I Sept.' 16

Robert Littell July'16. . .Sept.'16. . .New York G t

JohnD. Little May'16 Maiden, Mass D... 1

Preston Lockwood

Assistant to Inspector . . . ( May'15. .Oct. '15. . . .St. Louis W.U. . . .3*

I Dec'15... Feb.'16.

Walter Lovell

Section Director Feb. '15. . . June'16 . . . Newtonville, Mass. . H 2

Arthur E. Lumsden June'16 Chicago 8

George H. Lyman June'16 Boston H 9

t Tent * Base „ t Park

341

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

George A. McCall Nov.' 15. .Aug.' 16. . .Philadelphia U.P 4

George B. McClary June'15. .Oct.'15. . . .Oak Park, 111 D 3

James R. McConnell Feb.'15.. .Dec'15... .Carthage, N.C U.V 2

Harold F. McCormick, Jr. . .July'16. . .Oct.'16. . . .Chicago G f

John H. McFadden Jr.

Treasurer Oct.'14 Philadelphia U.P *

Donald H. McGibeny July' 15. . .Nov '15. . .Indianapolis Ham 1

Dallas D. L. McGrew

Section Sous-chef Jan. '15. . .July 15. . . .Boston H 3

Donald S. MacLaughlan. . . . Oct.'16 New York 2

Robert Macxay

Section Director Aug.' 14 . .Oct. '15... .New York Co. . . . . .1|

Logan McMenemy July' 15. . .Dec. '15. .. .Rockford, 111 Y 2

Douglas MacMonagle Dec'15. . . Sept.'16 . . . San Francisco U.C 3,8

Francis W. MacVeagh July'16.. .Sept.'16.. .New York G f

Jacques Magnin July'16 Paris 3

Francis P. Magoun, Jr Feb.' 16. . .Aug '16 . . .Cambridge, Mass. . .H 1

Harold A. Manderson July '16 Portland, Maine Bow 9

Kenneth Marr Dec'15.. .July'16. . . .Livermore, Cal 2

Verne Marshall Feb.'16. . . Aug.'16 . . . Cedar Rapids, la . . . Coe 4

William T. Martin Nov.' 14. .Nov.' 15. . .Burlington, N.J Pitts 2

Austin B. Mason

Section Commander Mar.'16 Boston H.-T. . . .4,8

Robert Matter. Sept.'15. .Dec'15.. . .Marion, Ind P 3

Frank Mauran July'16. ..Aug.'16. . .Philadelphia Y f

JohnMelcher April' 15. .Aug.' 15. . .New York H 3

Joseph M. Mellen June'15. . Jan.'16 Garden City, N.Y...H 3

Appleton T. Miles Oct.'16 Brattleboro, Vt D 8

Donald W. Monteith Feb.'16. . .June'16. . .New York 2

Rodman B. Montgomery . ( June'15. .Sept.' 15. . .Rhinebeck, N.Y. . . .P 2,4,3

I June'16

H. Kirby Moore Aug.'15. .Nov.'15. . .Philadelphia 3

John C. B. Moore June'16 Cambridge, Mass.. .H 9

Lawrence S. Morris July'16 Albany, N.Y H 4

Philip R. Morss Aug.* 15. .Oct.' 15. . . .Chestnut Hill, Mass. H 3

Robert T. W. Moss

Chief of Repair Park Jan.'15 New York H 2t

Allan H. Muhr

Comptroller Jan.'15 Paris *

Stephen I. Munger Sept.'16 Dallas, Texas V 8

John K. Munroe May'16 Tuxedo Park, N.Y..H 3

Albert Nalle June'15. .Sept.'15 ...Bryn Mawr, Pa P 3

Basil K. Neftel Oct.'lo Larchmont, N.J 8

David T. Nelson Dec'15.. .April' 16. . .Mayville, N.D U.N.D....1

Charles W. Nevin, 2nd Sept.'16 Philadelphia P 9

Ogden Nevin April'15. .July'15. . . .Burlington, N.J. .. .Y 1

Lothar W. Newbery Sept.' 16 Rockville Center,

L.I 1

Winthrop P. Newman May'16 Orange, N.J 2

Emory H. Niles June'16 Baltimore J.H 9

t Park * Base J Tent

342

AMERICAN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

John Oakman Nov.'14. .Feb. '15. . . .New York Wms 1

Leonard Ober June'15. .Oct.'15... .Baltimore P 3

Francis D. Ogilvie

Section Sous-chef Nov.'14 Lindfield, Sussex 2

James A. O'Neill Feb.' 16.. .July' 16. . . .Jersey City, N.J Co 2

Earl D. Osborn July'15.. .Oct.'15. . . .New York P 3

Frederick R. Ostheimer Aug.' 16 Paris 4

Henry B. Palmer June'16 New York H 3

Joseph A. Parrott Sept.' 16 San Mateo, Cal Cam 4

W. Barclay Parsons, Jr July'16. . .Sept.'16 . . .New York H t

John G. Paul Aug.'16 Watertown, Fla P 4

Samuel H. Paul Feb.'16. . .Aug.'16 . . .Chestnut Hill, Pa 1

Waldo Peirce June'15. .July'16.. . .Bangor, Maine H 3

J. R. Osgood Perkins Nov.' 16. .April'16. . .West Newton, Mass. H 3

Oliver H. Perry

Section Commander Feb. '16 Elmhurst, L.I., . . . .P 4

George W. Phillips Dec'15.. .April'16. . .S. Sudbury, Mass.. .M.I.T 3

Carleton M. Pike Feb.' 16. . .Aug.' 16. . .Lubec, Maine Bow 4

Gerhard W. Pohlman Mar.'16 New York 3,8

Carleton A. Potter June'16 Oneida, N.Y D 2

Thomas W. Potter Dec'16 Westchester, N.Y 3

W. Clarkson Potter June'16 Riverdale-on-Hud-

son, N.Y P 1

Emory Pottle Sept. '15. .June'16. . .Lago di Como,

Italy Am 2

Howard H. Powel Feb.'16 Newport, R.I H 2

Wm. Prickett Mar.'16. .Sept.' 16 .. .Wilmington, Del....P 4

Tracy J. Putnam April'15. .Jan.'16 Boston H 1,3

Meredith H. Pyne June'16. .Sept.'16. . . Bernardsville, N.J...G t

Kenneth M. Quinby June'15. .Sept.'15. . .Pittsburgh 3

Walter K. Rainsford Jan.'16. . .Aug.'16. . .Litchfield, Conn H.. 3

Beverley Rantoul Feb. '16.. .Aug. '16. . .Salem, Mass 4

John V. Ray Dec.'15...May'16. . . Charleston, W. Va .. U.V 3

Bertwall C. Read April'16 Bloomfield, N.J P 8

Charles Reed Nov.'14. ..Feb. '15.. . .Great Barrington,

Mass 1

George F. Reese June' 15... Oct.' 15. .. .Ravenna, Ohio 3,1

P. Newbold Rhinelander .... July' 16 Lawrence, L.I H 9

DttrccTht Rzcc

Section Sous-chef Jan.'15. ..Feb.'16. . . .New York H 3

William G. Rice July'16 Albany, N.Y H 1

Allan S. Richardson May'15. . . Aug.'15 . . . New Brunswick, N.J 1

Gardner Richardson Dec. '14. . .April'15. . . New York Y 1

William E. Richardson Aug.'15. .Oct.'15 New York 1

Carroll G. Riggs June'15 McCormick, Wash. . YJ 2

Malcolm T. Robertson April '15. .July'15 Brooklyn, N.Y P 1

Robert T. Roche Mar.'16 East Orange, N.J.. .P 1

George J. Rockwell

Section Sous-chef Feb.' 15 . . Aug.' 16 . . . Bradbury, Conn 1,4

t Park

343

FRIENDS OF FRANCE

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

George H. Roeder

Section Sous-chef , . Jan.'15. . .Mar.'16 . . .New Brunswick,

N.J H 2

Randolph Rogers April'16. .Sept.' 15. . .Grand Rapids,

Mich 8

Wm. B. Rogers, Jr June'16. .Sept.'16 . . .Dedham, Mass G f

Lawrence Rumsey Dec'14. . .Aug.'15. . . Buffalo, N.Y H 1

William P. Russell Aug.'16. . Curwansville, Pa. . . Y 4

Dolph F. Ryan June'15. . Jan.'16. . . .New York F 1

Edward Van D. Salisbury

Section Commander Sept.'14 . . Sept.'16 . . . Chicago H 2, If

Roswell S. Sanders Jan.' 16 Newburyport,

Mass 4

Daniel Sargent Mar/16 Wellesley, Mass H 3

James K. Saunders. ....... .Sept.'16 New York U.Mo. . . .8

J. Sears R. Sayer, Jr Feb.'15.. .July'15... .New York 1

Bernard N. P. Schroder .... Nov.'14 . . Mar.' 15 . . . Neuilly-sur-Seine . . . N.U 2

Edgar Scott, Jr June'16. . .Aug.' 16. . .Bar Harbor, Maine. G t

William B. Seabrook April'16. .Sept.' 16. . .Atlanta, Ga New.C....8

Edward M. Seccombe Feb.'16.. .Oct.'16. .. Derby, Conn 2

Thomas T. Seelye Aug.'16 Tarrytown, N.Y H 8

Henry Seton June'16 Tuxedo Park, N.Y..H 3,8

Loyal F. Sewall Feb.'16.. .Aug.'16 Bath, Maine Bow 4

Edward W. Shattuck Nov.' 14. .May' 15 Bristol, N.H 3

M. C. Shattuck May'16 Bristol, N.H Am 8

Henry Sheahan Aug.'15 . . Feb.'16 Topsfield, Mass H 2*

Clarence B. Shoninger June'16 New York Y 8

Hiram Sibley May'15 . . Sept.'15 . . . South Bend, Ind 1

J. Hopkins Smith, Jr Jan.' 16. .May'16 New York H 3

Philip D. H. Smith June'15. .Sept.'15. . .Brooklyn, N.Y D 2

Thomas J. Smith Nov.'14. .July'15.. . .Chicago 1,2

Francis N. Solis-Cohen ..... July'16 Philadelphia U.P 9

Edward C. Sortwell April'16 Wiscasset, Maine . . . H 8,3

George F. Spaulding Dec'15. . . Mar.'16 . . . Harper, California . . U.A 1

James M. Sponagle Nov.'15 Gloucester, Mass 1

Ernest N. Stanton Nov.'15. .July'16 Grosse Isle, Mich.. .U.M 4

Roland W. Stebbins

Section Sous-chef Feb. '15. . .June'15. . . Williamstown, Mass. H 1

William Y. Stevenson ... Mar.'16 Philadelphia U.P 1

George B. Struby April'16 Denver, Colo Y 2

Kimberly Stuart Aug.'16 Neenah, Wise. . . . .M.I.T.. . .4

Henry M. Suckley

Section Sous-chef. Feb.'15 Rhinebeck, N.Y H 3

Edward H. Sudbury Oct.'15. . . Jan.'16. . . .New York Am 2

Robert W. Sykes Sept.'15. .Mar.'16. . .Brooklyn, N.Y 4$

Arthur R. Taber Nov.* 15. .Feb.* 16.. . .New York P 4

George F. Talbot June'16 Falmouth, Maine... .H 9

Melvin F. Talbot June'15. .Sept.'15. . .Falmouth, Maine. . . .H 3

John C. Taylor July'15. . . Jan.'16. . . .New York F 2

t Park X Tent

344

AMERICAN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE

Name Entered Left Address Coll. Sec.

Joseph M. Taylor July'15. . .April'16. . .New York F 1

Lionel V. Teft June'15 . . Nov.'15 . . . Peoria, 111 D 3

Aubrey L. Thomas April'16. .Oct.'16 Washington, D.C. . .P 8

Moyer D. Thomas Aug.'16 Salt Lake City U.U 4

Edward I. Tinkham Feb.'16 Upper Montclair,

N.J Cor 3,4

PaulTison Feb.'16 New York H 3,1

Robert C. Toms

Section Sous-chef Feb.'16. . .Sept/16. . .Marion, Iowa A 4t

Vernon R. Tower Sept.'16 Hanover, Mass

Edward D. Townsend ( Mar.'15 . .April'16. . .New York P 1

I June' 16
Herbert P. Townsend

Section Commander Mar.'15 New York P 1

Roger T. Twitchell Oct.'16 Dorchester, Mass. . .H 4

John G. Underhill Feb.'16. . . May'16 . . . Owega, N.Y Wms 1

William E. Van Dorn Nov.'15. .Mar.'16. . .Chicago Wab 2

George Van Santvoord Mar.'16. .Sept.'16. . .Troy, N.Y Y 8

Donald M. Walden Jan.'15. . .Dec'15.. . .Brooklyn, N.Y 2

J. Marquand Walker

Section Director Sept. '15 New York H 3,2

Samuel S. Walker June' 16 Garrison-on-Hud-

son, N.Y Y 1

William H. C. Walker. . . . r Dec'15.. .May'16. . .Hingham, Mass 2

I Sept.' 16

Wm. Henry Wallace, Jr July'16 New York Co 4

Wm. Noble Wallace June' 16 Indianapolis Y 1

Richard C. Ware

Section Sous-chef Feb.' 16 East Milton, Mass. . H 4

Chas. L. Watkins July'16 New York Y 3,8

PauiB. Watson, Jr Mar.'15. .June'15. . .Milton, Mass H 3

Herman A. Webster

Section Commander ( Jan.'15. . .Oct. '15. . . .Chicago Y 2*

\ Oct. '16

Berkeley Wheeler Oct.'16 Concord, Mass

Walter H. Wheeler Feb. '16. .Aug.'16. . .Yonkers, N.Y H 3

Kenneth T. White Nov.' 15. .Aug.' 16. . .Grosse Isle, Mich...U.M 4

Victor G. White
Section Sous-chef Feb.'15.. ,Oct.'16 New York Cor 1

Harold B. Willis Mar.'15. .June'16. . .Boston H 2

Randolph C. Wilson May'16 New York Co 1

Cornelius Winant June'16 New York P 3

Frederick J. Winant July'15. . .Sept.'15. . .New York P 2

Charles P. Winsor Aug.'15 . . Aug.'16 Concord, Mass H 1

Oliver Wolcott Feb.'16.. .June'16. . .Milton, Mass H 2

Robert W. Wood, Jr July'16 Baltimore, Md H 9

Benjamin R. Woodworth. . . May'15. .July'16. . . .Germantown, Pa 1

William H. Woolverton Sept.'15. .April'16. . .New York Y 1

t Park * Base

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